


For Him

by justrae2010



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Accident, Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Head Injury, Love, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Memory Loss, Mutual Pining, Rings, Slow Burn, VictUuri, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-10-09 20:38:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 89,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10421280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justrae2010/pseuds/justrae2010
Summary: When Yuuri takes a hard fall on the ice, at first glance he seems to be okay. It's only when he wakes up and doesn't recognise the affectionate silver haired stranger at his bedside that he realises just how wrong he is.Memory Loss AU.Inspired by Troye Sivan’s For Him.





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing Yuuri was aware of as he slowly came back to consciousness was the distant throbbing in the back of his head.

Soft voices echoed in his ear, so quiet that Yuuri wasn't sure if they were real or just a dream. Was he dreaming? The pins and needles pricking at his fingertips felt very real though along with the foul taste of vomit clinging to the inside of his mouth. He grimaced before he could help it, the skin on his cheek feeling stiff like it was bruising.

That usually happened after he got a face full of ice. He groaned quietly at the thought, trying to cast his mind back to the jump that had taken him out. Nothing came to him though and he quickly gave up as the back of his skull started to throb in protest.

The voices started to get more real.

Yuuri was able to finally make out soft words through the chaos, rippling with a Russian accent: "Is this normal?"

"It's unusual for him to be out this long." This time, it was a Spanish accent. "But medically his vitals are fine and the scan came back negative for abnormalities… there's no reason to be concerned at this point."

Were they talking about him? Curious, Yuuri finally peeled his eyes open and winced at the blinding light closing in from the corners of his vision. His hand lifted to shield him from the brightness, his arm feeling heavier than he remembered.

"Ah," the Spanish voice picked up, "Here we are! Buenas noches."

Blinking furiously, Yuuri's surroundings started to piece together through the dots in his vision. He was in a white room with slabs of wooden panelling on the walls, a peaceful snowy evening on the other side of the wide window to his left. A heart monitor machine was beeping away by his right shoulder, attached to him through a clip on his forefinger.

He was in a hospital, he suddenly realised, eyes popping wide with a shock as he drank in his surroundings. The beep of the heart monitor sped up.

He gasped before he could help it and bolted up onto his elbows, regretting it almost instantly as the trembling in his arms was challenged by the dizziness swimming in his head. He fell back against the soft pillows with a whine, scrunching his eyes shut again.

"It's okay, Yuuri." A warm hand touched his shoulder, gently encouraging him to stay still. "You're in the hospital. You were involved in an accident at the CCIB and hit your head, but you're alright."

Slowly teasing his eyes open again, Yuuri frowned up at the kind brown gaze staring down at him. The Spanish doctor stood on the window side of his bed, one hand gently pinning Yuuri down and the other leaning against the bed rail. His soft smile gleamed comfortingly through through the stray curly brown hair that fell over his olive skinned face, escaping the strands tucked behind his ears. The name tag clipped to the breast pocket of his scrubs read 'Santiago'.

It was the Russian perched on Yuuri's right that _really_ caught his attention though. His thin lips curved into a warm smile when Yuuri's gaze fell to him. "How do you feel?" his voice was like velvet.

Silver hair and bright blue eyes defined him, his delicate pale features half hidden by the bangs falling casually over his left eye. Yuuri struggled to fault him. An exquisite black suit adorned his tall, lithe body and Yuuri glimpsed the powder blue of a trench coat draped over the back of his chair. As much as he looked, Yuuri couldn't see any ID.

He focused back on the question instead, remembering the dull ache at the back of his skull. "My head hurts." he forced out with a slight wince.

"That's normal." Doctor Santiago just chuckled, wandering round to the foot of Yuuri's bed to scribble on the clipboard hanging there. "I'll prescribe some painkillers to take home with you."

Yuuri sighed in relief at the mere thought of the numbing medication, turning slowly back to the Russian. His crystal blue eyes were easy to hold. "What kind of accident?" Yuuri asked, his throat feeling raw. His spine crawled waiting for the answer.

The smile on the Russian's face died a little, but his gaze still glittered. "You fell." He broke softly, fingers closing over Yuuri's wrist gently. "In the middle of your short programme."

As soon as he'd said it, it all came flooding back to Yuuri; the bright lights of the stadium ceiling staring down at him from an angle Yuuri knew he should never have to see, the back of his head feeling dizzy and wet. He vaguely remembered the deathly silence as the music was suddenly cut off and the urgent scratching of ice shoes running towards him.

That wasn't all though - he remembered a harrowing scream calling to him across the ice, just before he'd blacked out: _"YUURI!"_

He gasped sharply at the memory, feeling the air punch through his chest.

"It's okay," the Russian echoed Santiago's words, anchoring Yuuri back to the present. "You cut your head a little, but that's the worst of it. You're going to be fine."

That wasn't what was bothering him though. He'd fallen before and inevitably would again, always walking away from it and gritting his teeth through the pain. The fact this one had been a little harder didn't change that. That yell echoed hauntingly in his mind though; it had been so raw, so completely devoid of anything even remotely rational…

Gentle fingers moulded around Yuuri's cheek and coaxed him from his thoughts, guiding his face to the Russian. On instinct, Yuuri's arm jerked and slapped the hand away sharply.

The heart monitor suddenly flashed red, beeping frantically.

Yuuri tried to control the runaway hammer of his heartbeat as Dr Santiago flew to his side, snapping the clip off his finger and blocking him from the Russian's stunned gaze. He whipped out a little pen torch from his breast pocket while his fingers pressed against the pulse point at the inside of Yuuri's wrist. Yuuri didn't move a muscle as the doctor shone the light into his eyes. Out of the corner of his gaze though, he caught the Russian run a shaky hand through his hair.

"Don't look at him." Dr Santiago murmured softly. "Look at me, please."

Heat flushed Yuuri's cheeks as he corrected his gaze and focussed on a strand lock of curly brown hair hanging between Dr Santiago's focused eyes instead.

When the light switched off though, he found himself drawn explicitly back to the Russian.

"Yuuri…" A tiny crease furrowed the space between the man's eyebrows and his lips drifted apart ever so slightly, looking an innocent combination of puzzled and hurt.

Yuuri didn't understand. Sensing he was missing something, his gaze travelled between the Russian and Dr Santiago, suddenly taking note of the differences between them that he had ignored before. He threw his earlier assumptions into question when he couldn't find anything to back them up. "Who are you?" His eyes settled back on the Russian, voice stammering.

The air stiffened in a heartbeat.

At first Yuuri had assumed he was a doctor, but he wasn't wearing scrubs like Santiago was nor any kind of name tag. He didn't seem to have a pager either. But if he wasn't a doctor, then who was he?

A nervousness swept over Yuuri at having to ask, only made worse as he noticed the way Dr Santiago's eyes suddenly snapped up from the notes he was writing on the clipboard at the foot of the bed. He didn't say anything though, gaze darting to the Russian's reaction.

Yuuri did the same: as soon as the words left Yuuri's mouth, he watched what little colour was in the Russian's pale face whiten completely, his eyes widening with a confusion that bordered on horror. Whatever it was though, he recovered quickly and in the blink of an eye had fixed a small smile back in place. It didn't quite reach his eyes this time though.

"What are you talking about?" he chuckled nervously, leaning forward in his chair and bracing his elbows on his knees. "It's me."

His long fingers interlocked together just in front of his chin in a way that was obviously intended to look casual, but failed miserably. The white knuckles betrayed him.

As the silence dragged on, the furrow in Yuuri's brow just got deeper and deeper.

Slowly, the Russian's facade started to unravel. Every silent second knocked his stiff smile back into submission again bit by bit, eyes widening with realisation. Something was obviously starting to set in. His hopeful expression faltered more with every thudding heartbeat, falling in slow motion as he finally realised that Yuuri really wasn't kidding. "Y-you know who I am, don't you?" His face was ashen.

Yuuri just stared at him blankly.

He watched the horror unfurl on the Russian's face with a confused frown, not sure what was going on. What was he missing?

He didn't the chance to work it out though before the man suddenly burst to his feet, chair legs squealing against the floor in protest. There was nothing he could do to stop him as he leaned forward and grabbed Yuuri's shoulders.

"I'm Victor!" he near shouted, desperate eyes bearing imploringly into his. "I'm _your_ Victor! Tell me you know who I am."

Only Yuuri didn't know any Victor.

The clipboard dropped onto Yuuri's legs as Santiago quickly stepped between them, his firm hand on Victor's shoulder pulling him back. "Mr Nikiforov, if you could step outside for a moment-"

Victor brushed the doctor's hands off him. "He doesn't know who I am!"

When his eyes fell back to Yuuri again, there was only glittering heartbreak. His fingers ran shakily through his hair, brushing his bangs back from his face as the breath hitched in his chest. He looked like he was going to be sick.

A single pearly tear rang down his cheek as his arm fell limply back to his side. "He doesn't know who I am..."

His voice was barely more than a whisper, but Yuuri clung to every word.

Out of the corner of his eye, something glinted in the bright hospital light and Yuuri quickly found the culprit glittering in the form of a single gold ring on the Russian's right hand.

He wasn't sure what made him do it, but Yuuri glanced down before he could help himself. His hand rested forgotten on his lap, a gold ring gleaming from his finger. It was exactly the same, he realised, feeling his stomach twist. They were identical.

Only he didn't remember it at all.


	2. Chapter 2

The taxi inched through the frost-bitten streets at a maddeningly slow pace, only just not skidding on the thin layer of ice glazing the road. Outside, all Yuuri could see was a haze of brown and grey. He had no idea where he was. The flurry of snow didn't help, blurring anything he might have recognised in a dim white cloud. He could have been anywhere in Barcelona in that moment.

Even with the taxi's heating on full blast and Victor's thick coat around him, he still felt cold rattling his bones. The tips of his nose and ears were red. He tugged the trench coat tighter around him, nuzzling his numb cheek against the soft, upturned collar and inhaling the rich cologne that clung to it.

 _Victor_.

He was pretty sure the man was still in shock. He sat still across the car – deadly still – his fingers curled stiffly under his chin and his blue-green eyes were wide like he'd seen a ghost.

Suddenly, he jolted. "Oh my God!"

Yuuri jumped too.

"Your mother!" Victor patted down the pockets of his jacket, brow knitting together. "She'll be worried sick. I forgot to call her."

The breath hitched in Yuuri's throat – Victor had his mother's number?

His fingers moved like lightning over the phone's screen, pausing half a second before he held it up to his ear. A frown furrowed his brow, intense with concentration.

Even from across the car, Yuuri could hear the line ring. He gulped hard. There was no way that monotonous dialling tone was ringing through to Japan, just no way…

It paused suddenly.

"Hi-"

So did Victor.

Whatever he had started to say died in his throat as his eyes connected with Yuuri's across the car, something unreadable glittering in his gaze.

He held the phone out. "Here. You should speak to her."

The colour drained from Yuuri's face. He took the iPhone with numb fingers, only just not shaking - he recognised the inn's phone number on the screen in a heartbeat. Hot, unexpected tears suddenly pricked at the back of his eyes and he gulped hard to keep them at bay.

He brought the phone to his ear, fighting to keep his voice steady. " _Okaa-san_?"

On a hunch, he spoke in Japanese. Victor didn't understand Japanese, did he? His eyes flickered up to the Russian - the tiny crease in his brow said no.

 _Good_.

"Yuuri?" Hiroko spoke in their mother tongue too. "Oh, thank goodness! We've been so worried about you."

A lump lodged itself in Yuuri's throat at the sound of his mother's voice. When was the last time he'd seen her? He couldn't remember how long ago he'd flown out for the competition.

"I'm okay, mom."

"Are you sure?" Her voice wobbled. "Oh, it's so good to hear your voice!"

"Yeah," He sniffled. "I'm just with Victor." His round brown eyes glanced across the taxi and Victor gave a small, unconvincing smile in return, recognising his name even in the curl of Japanese. "Mom… who is he?"

He had to ask.

There was a pause. "What do you mean, Yuuri?" Her tone shifted warily. "He's your coach. You've been obsessed with him since you were twelve years old."

Yuuri choked on air. _Twelve years old…_ when he'd decided with Yuuko that skating would be more than just a hobby for him, that it would be his life. They'd spent every waking hour down at the ice rink at that age, watching their favourite skaters on TV and trying to copy them on the ice themselves. Had Victor been one of them?

He looked like a skater. There was an air of grace that hung around him - even when he'd been angry, even when he'd cried - he was just _beautiful._ Every skating coach was a skater before they decided to teach after all…

When Yuuri found his voice again, it was ragged. "Really?"

Silence answered him.

"He was there at the hospital," he gulped in a rush. "I can't remember things. I don't know where I am or who he is. I feel like I've seen him before but I just… I just can't remember." His eyes felt hot. Damnit. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He could not cry - not in front of Victor. "I just want to come home."

The quiet, undisturbed hot springs of Hasetsu were exactly what he needed; away from skating; away from Victor; away from all the reminders that anything had gone wrong in that final show skate performance. Never mind his forgotten fiancée and botched career. The hot, mineral waters had a way of just melting away troubles. Even big ones, like hearing that the last eleven years of memory had been addled with.

"It's okay, dear," Hiroko soothed, and Yuuri felt warmth wash over him like she was really there instead of countless miles away. "You're safe with Victor. Just take your time."

It wasn't okay though.

He didn't want time.

And in a strange city with a strange man, he didn't feel safe.

As soon as he got his phone back, he was booking a flight home and texting Phichit for answers.

Yuuri gasped - Phichit! Of course. Why hadn't he thought of him before? He would be in town for the final, wouldn't he? Surely, he would have qualified. Yuuri should have called him from the hospital, and …

And what?

_Help, I woke up in hospital with a hot Russian man who wants to marry me._

Phichit would have laughed in his face.

"When can you come home?"

His mother's question distracted him. "Um."

Victor's eyes lingered on him from across the taxi, making the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Yuuri tried to ignore it. "Hopefully next week. If I'm still okay."

"Okay then, dear. Let us know when to expect you."

Yuuri nodded - a stupid thing to do! As if his mother could see. The words were too choked up in his throat to say out loud though and he hung up before his mother heard him squeak, blinking furiously. He hadn't thought he'd get so upset.

The phone sat on his thigh while he composed himself for Victor, willing his eyes to stay dry. Yuuri already felt vulnerable enough around him. He glimpsed down to the iPhone to hand it backs to its owner, thumb pausing over the lock button as something behind the app icons caught his eye. It was ...him. He was Victor's phone background. With wild black hair and sleepy eyes, Yuuri had clearly just woken up in the photo but there was nothing begrudging at all in his megawatt smile. In fact, he looked pretty darn happy for first thing in the morning. Ridiculously happy. _Impossibly_ happy.

He thumbed the screen black. His eyes jerked up quickly, hoping Victor hadn't noticed. "Thank you." It was barely audible, handing the phone back.

Their fingertips brushed over the soft pink-red phone case and both of them froze. Victor's gaze snagged Yuuri's. He really did have wonderful eyes, Yuuri noticed with a thudding heart. Bright blue at the top which melted into an almost sea-green at the bottom, lined with thick, fluttering eyelashes that would make any girl jealous. Or Yuuri. Yuuri was pretty jealous in that moment.

He snatched his hand away.

Victor just smiled.

The taxi drew to a halt along the curb and Victor paid the fare. Yuuri didn't recognise the tall, silvery-grey coloured building outside the window. He tried not to feel too anxious about it as he slowly got out the car, taking care to avoid the ice patches littering the curb. Cracking his skull on the sidewalk wouldn't help his recovery.

"Do you recognise anything?"

The snow had ebbed, but the world was still a blur. "No." Yuuri shook his head, squinting through the sleet. "Though I can't really see…"

Colours and blurred shapes danced around him but the edges were too hazy for him to make out anything solid. His glasses were probably with the rest of his stuff left behind at the CCIB. Apparently, there hadn't been time to grab his bag.

That was worrying.

Victor gasped. "Oh! Of course - here."

Slender fingers delved into the breast pocket of Victor's suit jacket and Yuuri's eyes widened at the blue rimmed glasses perched in the Russian's palm. He… he had Yuuri's glasses.

Nobody _ever_ had Yuuri's glasses.

Except Victor. Apparently, he gave them to Victor. He plucked them from Victor's palm with numb fingers, cramming them on his flushed face.

"How about now?"

The world came into focus.

He'd been wrong about the colour of the hotel; it was darker than he'd first realised, with a panel of brown running up the middle. Endless rows of hotel windows loomed over them, modern and chic. Across the road, a low-lying snow capped black building glittered in the night lights. The rest of the street was in a similar design, the road stretching farther than the eye could see in both directions and crossed by a large intersection. Only a sparse handful of parking lots and hotels smattered around it to fill the gaps. A tram choked along its tracks beside frosty palm trees.

Yuuri's heart sank - none of it looked familiar. "No." he sighed.

Something squeezed his shoulder. Yuuri twitched. At least he didn't slap Victor away again like he had done at the hospital, blinking up at the Russian's sparkling blue eyes and blushing. Victor's fingers pressed into the thick sleeve of the coat and his flawless smile made Yuuri's stomach flip. It was oddly reassuring.

"Don't worry," the Russian said. "I'm sure it will come back to you."

Whatever Yuuri might have said in reply was stolen from him in a silent, surprised gasp when Victor's fingers closed around his. It felt easy, natural. The automatic glass doors slid apart.

Yuuri wasn't sure what he'd been expecting of the hotel. A warm atmosphere, a few late night guests checking in at the reception desk, some rowdy tourists crowding around the television by the bar watching the football… just normal hotel stuff. The organisers of the Grand Prix didn't usually skimp on expense, so maybe some sharply dressed receptionists and fancy low lighting would be floating about. What he hadn't expected though was -

"SURPRISE!"

Yuuri lurched back in shock, stumbling to keep his feet. A sea of faces greeted him. He recognised the competitors from the final and a handful of their coaches, crowding the hotel lobby in expectation.

Of what? Him? He was nothing special.

"There he is!" Christophe Giacomette's deep voice hit him first, winking at him from the front row. "You boys were gone for a long time."

Victor's fingers clenched dangerously around Yuuri's. "Chris, what the _hell_."

Every word was curt and candid, laced with warning. It sent shivers up Yuuri's spine, wishing he could crawl away and hide from it. He shrank in the trench coat, as if it could swallow him whole. How did Chris just smile?

He wasn't the only one though. Yuuri glanced from grin to grin, to Yurio's scowl, to - "Phichit?" He squeaked.

The Thai skater beamed, his dark hair still neatly combed from the competition. "Yuuri! I'm glad you're okay. We were all worried."

Yuuri gulped hard. Suddenly he felt hot and cramped in a way that had nothing to do with the coat weighing down his shoulders. "Oh…" his voice was robotic. "Thanks. You shouldn't have…" R _eally,_ he muttered in his head, eyes scouring over the faces with a thudding heart. Faces. So many faces. They really, really shouldn't have.

Phichit prised him away from Victor, phone at the ready at the end of the selfie stick. "Picture for the fans?"

He was too tired to argue, though his fingers tingled at being empty all of a sudden. He let himself get dragged forward into the throng, everyone leaning in close behind him for the snap. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep...

"Smile!"

He moulded his stiff cheeks into what he remembered a smile to feel like. In the camera, it just looked crooked. He was not selfie ready. His cheeks were red while the rest of his face looked pale and clammy. His hair stuck out at odd angles, the gel that had once held it in place now cementing it into a frenzy. The discharge papers from the hospital poked out of the pocket of Victor's coat.

Phichit took the photo anyway.

 _Please be over,_ Yuuri willed, scanning behind him for Victor. Had he been in the picture too? He wasn't in front of him anymore. Where had he gone? Yuuri couldn't get into a room without him.

The chatter started and a yelp cut above the voices. Yuuri span around, catching snippets of Victor's voice.

"-if you give my boyfriend a panic attack over this I swear _to God,_ Chris, I will kill you-"

It was gone as soon as it came, and Yuuri didn't see him. He saw everyone else though. Phichit's arm snaked around his shoulders and anchored him in place as people huddled around him. It wasn't as comforting as Victor's, Yuuri noticed with reddening cheeks.

Questions fired from all sides, some nicer than others.

"I can't believe you were so stupid!"

"Have fun playing doctors and nurses at the hospital with Victor?" Emil winked.

A smile from Otabek. "I'm glad you're okay, Yuuri."

"Ha!" J.J scoffed, his arm around his fiancées shoulders. "At least I didn't flunk that badly."

Yuuri just blinked, face after face passing in a blur. At least he recognised them all, he thought as a mild consolation. Nobody else had fallen prey to his selective amnesia.

Just Victor.

Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri caught a flash of silver.

Victor was at a bar deeper into the hotel lobby and only just still in sight, a grouchy looking Yakov barking something at him that Yuuri couldn't understand. It looked like Russian. Irritation flashed over Victor's delicate features and he knocked back his drink sharply. The clear liquid - which Yuuri suspected was not water - disappeared in one hit. The arguing went on.

Suddenly, Victor's gaze shifted. He caught Yuuri's eye. What little colour was left in the Russian's face drained away and he stretched his arm out over the bar. It wasn't subtle. It wasn't in time. It wasn't accurate. His elbow caught the glass and it tumbled helplessly over the edge of the black bar, shattering loudly.

The sound echoed in Yuuri's ears. Suddenly, he felt sick.

A hand clapped down on his shoulder from behind and spun him around, but he didn't see the faces looming in on him. They were all blurs, voices mashing in his head.

 _Oh no._ The breath rasped in his throat.

He couldn't do this.

The smiles suddenly looked threatening, flashes of sharp white teeth closing in on him. Was the room always this bright? This hot? His fingertips tingled.

Air scalded his lungs but he sucked in more of it instinctively, chest tight. His ribcage was rigid, refusing to expand. He knew what was happening and he was helpless to stop it, the edges of his vision blurring black. It was all too much.

Faces.

Voices.

Victor-

Yuuri gasped. _Victor_ \- what was it he had he said about a panic attack? Yuuri swore under his breath.

He turned and bolted. His shoulder carved a blunt path through the crowd, eyes staring ahead but not seeing anything. The urge to run twitched at his legs but he resisted. Running would be a bad idea. He could barely walk, knees nearly buckling beneath him already. He couldn't stop though - especially when Victor's voice called out from behind him. No, he couldn't stop. He had to get out.

He marched past the reception desk as calmly as he could manage, nipping down into a corridor. His hand trailed clumsily along the wall, not sure he'd be able to stay upright without it. His mind ran a blank. All he could hear was his own ragged breaths. How was the air so thin? He gasped for oxygen but there wasn't any to find, the screws around his rib cage welding tighter. Where was he going? He didn't know, but he didn't stop. When he blinked again, he was in a stairwell.

Small and square, but towering up above him, Yuuri felt tiny. It crushed down upon him unexpectedly and he shrank back under the shadowed alcove of the steps. His back thudded against the wall. He was trapped.

A whimper left him as he slid down to the floor, head spinning. Was he going to pass out in the stairwell? He couldn't breathe and through his tear stained vision, he saw his legs wobble in front of him. He couldn't move. Most importantly, he couldn't go back. _Yes_ , he realised with a sickening twist of his stomach. He was going to pass out.

The world swayed around him, framed pictures of excellence on the wall facing him twisting in mid air. His head slumped forward between his knees, trying to remember how to count. Counting helped. _One… two…_ what came after two, again? He groaned hard, wetness running down his cheeks.

He didn't know what to do, throat raw from gasping. He was trapped, and cornered, and terrified. His wide eyes stared down between his knees, watching the squares of the carpet pattern dance.

"Yuuri?"

Yuuri scrunched his eyes shut at Victor's voice. He swore in his head.

Maybe if he was quiet, Victor wouldn't know he was here. Maybe he would go away. The wheeze of Yuuri's manic breaths was impossible to miss though and a new shadow fell over him.

The air shifted.

The coat sagged around Yuuri's shoulders and the cool touch of Victor's fingertips brushed against the side of his throat. Could he feel how fast his heart was racing? No, that wasn't what he was looking for; Victor's hand roamed to the nape of Yuuri's neck, thumb rubbing soothing circles into his skin.

"What's wrong?" there was an undertone of urgency in his voice, though he disguised it well. "Is it your head?"

"N-no, it's-" _Gasp._ Oh God. Yuuri couldn't even say it.

He whined brokenly.

A flurry of bright blue and strands of grey swam through his tears. He hadn't wanted Victor to see him like this. Shame burned at his cheeks and he buried his red face in his hands.

It was all Victor's fault anyway. If he hadn't talked to Chris earlier and if Yuuri hadn't overheard him, maybe this wouldn't have happened. It was a lot of ifs and maybes though. Yuuri was highly strung and he'd had a stressful day. There wouldn't have been much that wouldn't have set him off. But he hadn't had an attack this bad in years and he couldn't help but think that if Victor hadn't brought it to his mind...

"I-I'm sorry!" Yuuri gasped between breaths. "I'm so sorry! I-I didn't-" He didn't know what he was saying, fingers curling over his tear drenched face.

He must look a state. Victor probably wouldn't be so quick to call him his boyfriend again if the world could see Yuuri as he was in that moment. His eyes itched with tears and his head felt hot, his fringe sweat-stuck to his forehead. He'd been back in the real world for barely hours since his accident and he already wished he could knock himself out all over again. He choked back a sob.

Without warning, Victor pushed up and swallowed Yuuri in his arms. His fingers cradled the back of his skull.

"It's okay." Victor sighed, the taste of vodka lingering on his breath. "I'm the one who's sorry."

Yuuri froze.

He stopped breathing entirely. Victor's nose nuzzled into the side of his neck, the tips of his bangs tickling his skin.

Shock didn't cover it. There were no words to express the heart stopping moment of Victor throwing his arms around him, holding him tightly to his chest like Yuuri would fade into the wall if he let go. It was warm, and intrusive, and … and so, so right. Yuuri gasped and inhaled the cologne clinging to Victor's shirt, nearly whining with relief when something about it unwound the tension in his chest. His fingers tangled in the back of Victor's jacket.

It should have felt strange. It should have felt wrong to have Victor hold him like this, a man Yuuri had only met a few hours ago.

Only it didn't.

It felt the opposite.

Victor's melodic voice was a like a whispered prayer, lulling Yuuri to relax in his arms. His senses hummed in comfort whenever their bare skin brushed, feeling the adoration in the tender touch of Victor's fingertips. The oxygen starvation probably had a part to play in it too. Either way, Yuuri was beyond caring, fluttering his eyes shut over Victor's shoulder - he could breathe!

The air sighed out of him in relief, slumping limply against the Russian. He wondered if the way Victor's mouth brushed over the skin where his neck met his shoulder was really an accident.

His fingers clung to Victor with all they had. If the man minded, he didn't say anything - he just clung back in return.

It helped.

Yuuri dropped his forehead down to Victor's shoulder. _Don't leave me,_ he silently begged, hands curling desperately in the sleeve of Victor's jacket. He felt lightheaded. _Don't go away._

He was too dazed to be embarrassed, just glad to be with something sturdy while his consciousness crawled away from him. Passing out alone in the stairwell would be the cherry on top of a _fantastic_ day. Victor was better than nothing; boyfriend, fiancée or coach. He helped. That was all that mattered. Yuuri didn't fight the darkness closing in from the corners of his vision and slumped limp on Victor's shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3

The hotel was quiet in the morning. Yuuri’s footsteps echoed down the hall when he stepped into the lobby and the receptionist glanced up, fixing a polite smile on his tanned face.

“Um.” Yuuri wasn’t sure what to say. “Victor Nikiforov told me to come here. Room 1168.”

Paper crunched nervously in Yuuri’s fist, rolled up in his fidgeting fingers. He’d found it propped on the bedside table when he’d eventually woken up, the note scrawled hurriedly between the gaps of print on a Spanish leaflet: 

_ Gone to CCIB to get your bag. Ask reception about breakfast. Mention my name. _

_ Be back soon _

_ -Victor _

So he had.

It earned him a quizzical look from the receptionist. An eyebrow arched down at the crumpled leaflet from behind the desk but the young man made no move to take it, reading from a sceptical distance. 

Yuuri shifted awkwardly in his smart shoes. Smart shoes - matched with slack grey jogging pants and a long sleeved black t-shirt. It was a total disaster of an outfit, but it was all he’d found in the room; his trainers were in his bag. He was glad there wasn't many guests left lingering in the lobby to see him in his mismatched attire and wild hair, still damp from the shower. 

Suddenly, the receptionist’s eyes lit up. “Ah, yes!” he straightened up to attention, adjusting his waistcoat slightly. “Your special order.”

Yuuri frowned. “Special order?” He’d thought was just getting breakfast…

An uneasy feeling curled in his gut catching the sparkle in the receptionist’s eye. Or was that hunger? When was the last time he'd eaten?

The young man just smiled - a little too brightly. He must have been given a pretty big tip to pull this off. “Si,  señor.” he moved out from behind the desk. “Your coach left strict instructions, Mr Katsuki. Please - please, follow me. ”

A groan curled around Yuuri's tongue but he bit it back, following the staff with a sinking feeling in his stomach. What had Victor done? He wasn’t sure he liked surprises anymore. He’d just come down for some simple toast - that’s all he needed! Victor had already done enough for him as it was and he didn't want to be any more of a burden than he already had been, especially one that would be charged to the Russian’s credit card. 

He was led round the corner from the lobby, and seated at one of the small tables scattered between the bar and the glass wall. The spare, empty chair across the table feel like it was staring at him. Was Victor going to join him? No, he was at the CCIB. He'd said so in his note. Yuuri was alone waiting for his mystery order, the rest of the bar empty except for the handful of staff.

Thoroughly perplexed, he dumped Victor’s note down beside the napkin and poured himself a cup of coffee. Maybe whatever was happening wasn’t making sense because he was still half asleep. The rich, inviting aroma of caffeine hit him like a breath of fresh air and he inhaled greedily, senses singing to life. It was exactly what he needed. He leaned back in his chair, slightly more alive. 

The world outside was brimming with life. People milled around the shiny black building across the road, spilling straight from the tram to the doors in thick throngs. He wondered what kind of building it was. Museum? Sports stadium? Gallery? Bright sunshine rained down from high in the sky, glittering off the shimmering walls beautifully. It was hot against Yuuri’s arm. A handful of cars chugged along the wet roads, pausing at the red traffic lights of the intersection. 

Yuuri sipped at his coffee and tweaked a small smile. It was actually rather nice; enjoying the quiet, being waited on, and watching the world go by. It felt normal. His memory loss didn’t matter here.

Out of the corner of his eye though, something caught his attention.

It was scrawled so tiny between the thin lines of Spanish print on Victor’s leaflet that Yuuri hadn’t noticed it before, pulling the paper closer for a better look. It was in Victor’s handwriting. 

_ P.S I’m sorry. _

The words were scratched out. Almost to the point of being illegible. Yuuri could still see through the aggressive lines though, to the apology they fought to hide.

He hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath until his lungs suddenly gasped for air. What was Victor sorry for? Yuuri’s heart was pounding, and he didn’t understand why.

A bowl whisked down on the table in front of him.

“Your order,  señor.”

Yuuri jumped.

He flashed a polite smile up at the waiter instinctively before it sunk in what he was smiling about. _Victor’s special order._ Rice, pork, egg, vegetables - was this… was this katsudon? How had Victor managed to find katsudon in Spain? It even had chopsticks. He snapped them apart a little tentatively. 

It wasn’t something he usually ate for breakfast - though the time for breakfast was long over judging from how high the sun was in the sky - and it wasn’t anywhere near as good as how his mother made it, but Yuuri wolfed the food down like he was starving. He probably was. It had to be nearly twenty four hours since he’d last had anything. He filled his empty stomach, body humming happily at being fed at last. 

Glancing up to the TV at the bar, Yuuri watched the coverage of the Grand Prix. And himself. Old footage of him played, his old self smiling and waving with Victor’s arm around his shoulders. He looked happy. Yuuri gulped as the camera cut to the commentator’s box.

_ “There's still no word yet from Yuuri Katsuki after his fall in the ice yesterday, but it is understood that he has been discharged from the hospital,”  _ the presenter said. “ _ Fellow competitor Phichit  _ _ Chulanont  _ _ posted a photo on Instagram with Katsuki late last night, but no official word yet from his coach, Victor Nikiforov, on the severity of his injury. It looked like a pretty nasty fall, didn't it, Stephane?” _

The screen cut to another presenter, this one in the back wings of the stadium. Skaters stretched in the background, paired with their coaches. Yuuri didn’t recognise any.

_ “That it did, Tom. It just reminds you how dangerous this sport really is.” _

_ “There have been a number of high profile head injuries over the years. How lucky is Katsuki to be out of the hospital so soon?” _

_“It's difficult to say._ _Head injuries have already taken one skater out of the running this year and just like Katsuki, USA’s Joshua Thomas had been given the all clear by the hospital before he decided to withdraw from his season.”_

Yuuri gulped hard, forcing another chopstick load of rice in his mouth and dropping his gaze down to the food. He pushed the pork pieces around the bowl. 

_ “I wouldn't expect to see Katsuki here today.”  _ Stephane’s voice said.

_ “It seems his dream of winning the gold medal at the Grand Prix final is sadly not to be this year. Let’s just remind ourselves what happened-” _

The chopsticks clattered from Yuuri’s fingers as the tune of his Eros programme suddenly played, skipped right through to the end of his routine. To his fall. He recognised that spot in the music.  _ Oh no -  _ his hands clamped down over his ears, mouth running painfully dry. Wide eyes picked out every single grain of rice in the pork cutlet bowl. 

Bits of his short programme had started to come back to him. He remembered the determination when he’d first taken the ice, pushing himself to meet every jump and step, ignoring the strain of his body, and - 

And then nothing.

Suddenly, his memory cut out.

He guessed that was where he’d fallen. 

After a few minutes, Yuuri slackened his hands around his skull. The music was gone. The voices were back. His shoulders slumped in relief; the replay of his accident was over.

_ “-and there's Victor Nikiforov! Former five time consecutive gold medalist turned coach.” _

Yuuri's eyes snapped up. 

Surprise flashed over Victor’s  face on the TV screen as he turned to the camera, caught somewhere in the back wings of the stadium. A bag strap crossed over his shoulder. Yuuri's bag. The Russian quickly slapped a smile on his face, fingers sweeping his silver bangs back from his eyes as he recovered. They looked just as red as Yuuri’s.

_ “Oh.”  _ The smile didn't sit quite right on his face, no matter how much fake enthusiasm Victor pooled into it. _ “Hi!” _

_ “How’s Yuuri?” _

_ “He’s resting,”  _ Victor winked. _ “Doctor’s orders!”  _

He didn’t say anything about the memory loss.

_ “Is he competing today?” _

A shadow crossed over Victor’s face, his tone a little softer.  _ Disappointed _ .  _ “I’ve just been speaking to the judges. Yuuri’s withdrawn from the competition.”  _ He chirped up and waved a hand at the camera:  _ “See you at the Worlds!” _

In a blink, he was gone. Whisked away before they could sling another question at him, the camera followed Victor’s back for half a second before they admitted defeat and flicked the screen back to the commentator's box.

Yuuri had stopped watching though, stopped listening. He just stared at the screen with an open mouth. The bite of pork was still half chewed on his tongue, jaw going slack. Victor had … withdrawn him from the competition? Without even talking to him about it. He'd just pulled him out. Yuuri gulped down the food, sticking like a lump in his throat. Suddenly, it tasted bitter. 

Victor couldn't do that. 

Half of the pork and rice still on the bowl, Yuuri set his chopsticks down and stood up. He trudged back up to the room with his right leg limping, mind working furiously as he went. Furious at Victor. 

He shut the room door with a near slam, hands curled into tight fists at his side. The indent of Victor’s body was still pressed into the bed sheets beside Yuuri’s. Now that he had Yuuri's bag, would he be on his way back soon? Yuuri wasn't sure he wanted to see him after that interview. 

Throwing himself down on the bed, Yuuri ran his hands over his face and groaned. So that was it - his Grand Prix was over. 

Victor's note suddenly crashed through his thoughts -  _ I'm sorry. _

Sorry wasn't going to cut it.

The worst bit was that he knew Victor was right. Even if Yuuri's head was fit to skate - which clearly spoke for itself, ceiling dancing between his fingers - the rest of his body wasn't. An angry purple bruise curled around his hip and up his spine and the black and blue lashings on his leg meant he wouldn't be able to run, let alone skate. He was breathless just from storming down the corridor; he would never make it through a routine!

Yuuri bit his lip against the tears building in the back of his eyes. It was all his fault. As his coach, Victor was obliged to pull him out of the competition on medical grounds if Yuuri wasn't fit, but he never would have had to if Yuuri hadn't screwed up in the first place. Yuuri fell. Yuuri hurt himself. Yuuri blasted his skull on the ice and scattered his memory to the four winds. Him - not Victor. 

It didn't make the reality any easier though, Yuuri sucking in ragged breaths through his teeth. Adrenalin pumped through his system, heartbeat pounding in his ears. 

Rolling to his feet, Yuuri tried to ignore the weight of his heart in his chest as he made a beeline for the wardrobe. He couldn't stay here. He had to get out. If he couldn't skate, he had to run. And if he couldn't run, he had to walk. He couldn't just stay cramped up in the hotel room with reminders of Victor and his own failure at every turn. If he couldn't change what happened, he was going to at least avoid it for a little while. 

His coat was in his bag with Victor, but Yuuri wrenched one of Victor's off the hanger with minimal guilt and threw it over his shoulders. After a moment's pause, he borrowed a mustard yellow scarf as well. 

Victor wouldn't mind. Probably. 

As soon as Yuuri stepped out of the hotel doors, he smelled the sea air. That was what he followed. His steps were fast and blunt against the pavement, sending shudders up his injured leg with every stride and his limp deepening. It ached the muscle, gritting his teeth against the pain. His heavy breaths misted in front of his face, blurring the sandy coast below the platform he stood on when he eventually found the beach. 

For a moment, he stopped. His thigh throbbed, leaning on his good leg to take the pressure off - though all that did was strain his hurt hip instead. Oxygen rushed to his head with his quick breaths, blood tingling in his veins at the fresh air. 

It crossed his mind to go back to the hotel, but he quickly ignored the idea. When he caught his breath back a little, Yuuri sighed. He actually felt better. 

Hands dug into the deep pockets of Victor’s coat, he walked along the beach front at a leisurely pace this time, slow enough to make his limp almost unnoticeable and the pain next to nothing. The gentle roar of the waves soothed his highly strung senses, tension sighing away with every passing stride. The sea salt was thick in the air and Yuuri even smiled at the cries of the seagulls. It was so peaceful. He could have been back at home for all he knew, all the familiar sounds and smells of the ocean reminding him painfully of Hasetsu. 

_ Not long _ , he told himself and his aching heart. Soon he would be back home. 

The sound of Christmas music and cheerful bells wafted over from deeper into the city and Yuuri glanced across the road curiously. German huts of Christmas markets lined the adjoining street. It couldn’t hurt, he thought, crossing over with steadily rising spirits. He wouldn’t stray too far.

Sunlight battled with the grey clouds in the sky, brilliant and warm to the touch when it broke free. As soon as it vanished though, the icy wind descended. The snow on the ground had melted and even the slush it left behind had dried out, though the air was light and frosty to taste like it was ready to sleet down again at any moment. The cold nipped at Yuuri’s cheeks, bringing a rosy colour to the surface. Tourists and street performers packed the streets and the heady, festive smell of mulled wine hung in the air. 

Eventually, the cry of the gulls grew more and more distant until Yuuri couldn’t hear them anymore. He smiled at the Christmas carols humming around him instead. He’d forgotten it was nearly Christmas. 

He passed a little ice rink set up in the middle of the market, children skating in bobble hats and gloves while holding tightly to their parents hands. Yuuri fought the urge to have a go too; he didn’t have his wallet to pay anyway.

The more he walked, the more he lost himself in thought. He sucked in a measured breath, inhaling the smell of Victor lingering on the scarf around his neck. There was expensive cologne, strawberry shampoo, and something fresh, like the sea air only much subtler. Whatever it was, it was warm and comforting, Yuuri’s heart singing in contentment. 

He understood why Victor had done what he had with the competition. At least, he thought he did. Announced or not, there had been no way Yuuri would have competed in the free skate. 

If his memories ever did come back, maybe he would understand more what went on in the Russian’s head, what was behind those guarded eyes the camera had tried to drill into at the CCIB. Had he ever known? So far, he couldn't really understand how he and Victor could be together. They just seemed so different. Perhaps it was a publicity stunt or a joke? The tender look in Victor's eyes when he'd held Yuuri in his panic last night hadn't seemed like an act though, and there had been nobody to act for. 

Yuuri's legs trudged on of their own accord, oblivious to the arch of the sun in the sky as it leaned westwards. He just walked, enjoying the gentle stretch on his abused muscles.

Eventually, he stopped, the air of his slightly laboured breathing misting in front of his face.

He blinked.

He didn’t recognise the street around him. Spinning around, nothing looked familiar. Where was the Christmas market? Gone. In its place was just a standard street, flat faced buildings rising up either side of Yuuri with uniform, black railed balconies poking out from the sandy coloured walls. He couldn’t see a street sign.

It was only then he noticed the sparkling light dancing on the horizon.  _ Damn.  _ It was late. The evening colours of red and pink glittered beautifully over the rooftops.

He turned around and walked back the way he thought he’d come. The sun stayed at his side, trying to guide himself back to the beach with logic, but after another half an hour of walking, Yuuri still couldn’t smell the sea or hear the gulls. He was lost.

The breath rasped in his throat. 

There was barely any light left, shadows stretching out over the pavement and reaching for him with long, grappling fingers. The dense street looked nothing like the area of the hotel.

He was tired, the pleasant ache of exercise now weighing his legs down like chains clamped around his ankles. Every step was a drag, and every breath was somehow shorter than the last. He forced them in and out of his lungs as measured as he could - if he panicked out here, there would be no Victor to help him this time.

What was the name of the hotel again? He hadn’t even bothered to check. Walking along the beach, he hadn’t thought he’d need it. He tried to remember the logo on his napkin from breakfast, but all he remembered was Victor’s note staring at him from across the table.

After more fruitless wandering, Yuuri found himself in an open square. A tall, spiralled cathedral loomed behind him and a university choir group sang in his ear by the steps, adorned in festive hats and antlers. It would have been nice if Yuuri wasn’t in such a panic, gulping at the last lingering shreds of daylight on the horizon. He still wasn’t sure what to do. 

His heart hammered in his chest, whistling in air through his chattering teeth. It was cold now without the sun, icy wind biting through the hide of Victor’s coat. He should have worn a hoodie underneath it, borrowed some gloves or a hat…

Suddenly, his eyes settled across the street - a payphone. 

He nearly whined with relief, stiff legs shuffling him across the road in a beeline for the box. Who used pay phones anymore? Apparently, Yuuri did.

He found some spare coins lodged in the corners of the coat pockets and rammed them into the machine. After that he paused, phone in hand. Who could he call? His first instinct was Victor but even if he did know the Russian’s phone number, he would have been reluctant to call it. He’d already humiliated himself enough in front of him.

Instead, he dialled in one of the precious few numbers he knew by heart, holding his breath while it rang. And rang. And rang....

_ “Hi, it’s Phichit! I’m a little busy right now but if you leave a mess-” _

Yuuri hung up.

_ Voicemail _ .

Phichit must be competing, he suddenly realised.

He tried to ignore the sting that he should be performing his free skate too with the others instead of getting lost in ancient Spanish cities by himself.

Who else was there? He didn’t know any of the other skaters numbers and the only help calling his mother would do is that she would rat him out to Victor. What other choice was there? As little as Yuuri wanted to face the Russian again after last night, he wanted to spend a night on the cold Barcelona streets even less…

Just before his finger hit the first button though, he froze. His mother wasn’t the only other number he knew. There was one other, one that just so happened to be in Barcelona too. He punched it in quickly.

The dialling tone rang.

He was pretty sure he’d seen her yesterday, floating around at the back of the welcome party quietly with Minako. Just enough in view to let him know she was there but not in his face to crowd him like the other skaters had. She knew him too well for that. Hiroko had probably given her the heads up on his memory loss as well, unlike the others.

_ Please pick up, _ Yuuri willed desperately. He didn’t have enough change for another call. This was his only plan. If this failed him...

_ “Moshi moshi?” _

Yuuri had never been so glad to hear his sister’s voice in all his life. “Mari?”

“ _ Yuuri _ ?” She sounded surprised. “Where are you? Victor’s losing his mind.”

She was speaking in English. Yuuri groaned in his head - it would be a dead giveaway that she was talking to him. Pretty much everybody Mari knew was Japanese and there was only one Japanese person who she’d speak English with for out of courtesy for Victor. Him.

Yuuri sighed. “Please don’t tell him.” Admitting to Victor he’d gotten lost on top of the shame of his panic attack from the night before, the lingering irritation at Victor pulling him from the free skate… Yuuri ran a hand over his tired eyes. No, he couldn’t.

The line clicked. 

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri’s heart plummeted. “V-Victor?”

The Russian accent curling around his name down the phone line was unmistakable. “Where are you?” Victor barked, voice urgent. “Are you okay?”

Yuuri gulped, throat running dry. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just a bit lost.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Is Mari still there? I don’t know how much longer I’ve got left on this call…”  _ And I can’t think around you _ , he finished silently in his head. His cheeks felt warm.

“Yuuri, tell me where you are.” 

“Um.” 

Yuuri’s heart thudded at Victor’s stern tone, flashes of electric blue darting through his mind like Victor could somehow see him through the phone line. He gasped - was that a memory? Did Victor’s eyes go icy blue when he was serious?

“Yuuri…”

Oh right, there had been a question. “There’s a church.” Yuuri looked over his shoulder. “I don’t know which one. It’s got three steeples and there’s a square out front.” He wasn’t sure what else to say, glancing around him for clues. “There’s a big archway?” His squeaky voice made it sound like more of a question than a statement.

For a moment, Victor was quiet. Yuuri could hear the cents of his precious call trickling away helplessly with every passing moment.

Finally - “Did you just come out of a Christmas market?”

“Yes.”

There would be dozens of Christmas markets in the city this time of year.

“Is there a star on the front?”

Yuuri glanced across the square. “Yes.”

“I know where you are.” Was it just Yuuri, or did Victor’s voice sound lighter all of a sudden? Like he was smiling down the line. “Stay there! I’m coming for you.”

_ “Hey, that’s my pho-” _

The line crackled and cut off Mari’s yell.

Yuuri hitched the phone back on the receiver with numb fingers. What had he done? He felt lightheaded as he wandered back to the steps in front of the cathedral and perched himself down on one, setting his chin in his hands thoughtfully. Victor was coming to rescue him. Again.

His fingers ran over his face, delving underneath his glasses and pushing them up his forehead. He groaned hard.

It couldn't get any worse. It officially couldn't. 

Yuuri wished he could go back to sleep and start the day again. His head felt heavy in his shoulders, tilting to one side and his eyes drooped with exhaustion. The walk had been a stupid idea. Perhaps he needed Victor babysitting him at his bedside after all. No, the Russian was too busy pulling him out of perhaps his last competitive season for that.

The lull of the carol singers was soothing, even though Yuuri couldn’t understand the song. It seemed to fit right in with the cathedral, setting a homely glow about the square.  _ Romantic _ .

Yuuri frowned at the word. 

His skin suddenly crawled under the coat, a strange sense of déjà vu settling in his bones as his gaze scoured over the stone face staring down at him. A shiver ran through him. He’d been here, he realised. Before his accident, he’d been somewhere in this square. 

Yuuri wasn’t sure how long he listened to the chiming of the clock and the carol singing, hugging his arms tighter around himself as the little warmth left in the air slowly disappeared. The last of the light faded. How much time had passed? He suddenly realised how dependant he was on his phone and how helpless he was without it.  

Into the choir’s tenth carol since his phone call, misty breath shuddering from his lungs, Yuuri started to wonder if Victor had gotten the wrong cathedral after all...

A car door slammed.

Yuuri dared glance up. He stumbled to his feet.

“Yuuri!”

Victor’s coat billowed out behind him as he hurtled across the square and grey hair whipped away from his face. It just made his eyes that little bit more unignorable; sharp, but soft; determined, yet pricked with fear. Did he realise that he betrayed everything through his eyes? It stole Yuuri’s breath away like a punch to the gut.

He wished he’d held onto enough to move though when Victor suddenly opened his arms mid-stride. Yuuri realised what was happening just a second too late.

“I was so worried!” The Russian slammed into Yuuri, clinging his arms around his neck to keep them both from toppling. “When you’d gone, I just thought the worst. After what happened yesterday, I -”

He bit his tongue just in time.

Yuuri finished the rest of the sentence in his head for himself though - Victor thought he would be having another panic attack. His jaw tensed slightly. Did Victor think that Yuuri couldn’t even take a stroll without panicking? That every time he got a little fluffed up, he needed his  _ coach  _ to hold his hand and pull him through it? Just like he pulled him from his competitions.

He shucked Victor off, stepping back.

Victor staggered.

Surprise flashed in the Russian’s eyes - and a stab of hurt. He covered it quickly though, cracking a stiff - and clearly forced - smile. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

His gaze rose over Yuuri’s head.

In the dim glow of the evening Christmas lights, the cathedral really was beautiful. The old stone looked almost golden and the tiny paned windows sparkled with reflections and starlight. It reminded Yuuri of hopeful eyes, gazing up longingly at the moonlight. Dark tipped spirals framed the brilliant archway and the star was illuminated like a beacon, dancing out over Barcelona beautifully.

Was that why Victor was smiling? Did he find it beautiful too?  _ No _ , Yuuri realised with a furrowing brow, recognising the distant sparkle in the corner of the Russian’s eye. Victor was remembering something.

It wasn’t hard to guess what - his gaze dropped to Yuuri, glittering softly.  _ Expectantly _ . “You came here…” his voice was wistful.

“Where are we?”

The sparkle in Victor’s eyes died.

It was almost sad to watch but Yuuri was still too annoyed at Victor to let himself feel sorry for him just yet. He just watched Victor’s expressions unfold, trying to work out what was going on in his head. Despite how simple a front Victor seemed to put on the surface, he suspected there was a lot more going on underneath.

Whatever it was though was guarded in a blink, a firm shield dropping down over the Russian’s gaze. He was giving nothing away.

When he paused at the scarf around Yuuri’s neck though, something cracked. His lips ghosted apart, tweaking at the corners. “Is that my…”

_ Yes,  _ Yuuri answered in his head with hot cheeks, glaring down at the pavement at his boots. Yes, it was Victor’s.

“I-I’m sorry.” Damn, he was nervous again. Why did Victor’s piercing gaze make him feel so exposed? “I wasn’t sure how long you’d be gone and - and I wanted some fresh air. I, er - I mean, I don’t remember where the CCIB is and I just thought a walk would clear my head, but-”

Yuuri clamped hand over his own mouth, cutting off his rambling. Victor’s amused smirk burned into him like a brand - he was loving it! Yuuri’s face burned.

He was just in the middle of reminding himself that he didn’t care what Victor thought when he glanced up and caught Mari’s drab stare over the Russian’s shoulder. A stray strand of brown hair poked out from underneath her black bandana, falling over her eyes. She blinked like it wasn’t even there. She’d obviously not been in as much of a hurry as Victor had.

Her arms were folded over her chest. “You know, the CCIB is just over the road from the hotel.”

Yuuri’s heart stopped with a humiliated thud.

He felt the colour drain slightly from his face. No. He did not know that. Did she mean the short black building he’d been admiring at breakfast, the one that had been so busy and crowded outside? Yuuri shut his eyes. He couldn’t bear to look at anybody right now. He’d even thought about what a great sports venue it would have made. All that stuff he’d seen on TV, thinking it was half a city away and he was helpless while it unfurled - it had all been just  _ across the road! _

“I’m sorry it took so long.” Victor chuckled. “You looked so peaceful this morning, I couldn’t bear to wake you. I just wanted to watch Yurio but I guess I got a little carried away.”

More heat flooded Yuuri’s cheeks. Why did Victor have to say it like that? And in front of his sister no less. He didn’t really want to advertise to his family the fact that he was apparently sharing beds with strange, attractive European men.

His head hung.

He’d made a fool out of himself again.

His thumb span the gold band around his finger to distract himself from the myriad of thoughts trampling through his head, wishing it could turn back time. Before he’d woken up, before his short programme yesterday - back to when his world had made sense, whatever that had been. To when he looked in those blue-green eyes and understood exactly what looked back.

  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

"Are you sure you'll be okay? I could-"

"I'll be fine."

The airport terminal was ridiculously busy. Queues for check in were literally out the door and the charity Christmas choir could barely be heard over the sheer volume of chattering travellers. One of the coffee shops handed out mulled wine and mince pies to the people waiting in the cold. The indulgent taste still tingled on Yuuri's tongue. He and Victor were stood so close together they were practically nose to nose.

Victor's steadying hand was on Yuuri's arm, as if he was afraid he might get whisked away by the crowd at any moment. It was only just not painful.

Yuuri had finally managed to bag himself a flight back to Japan. It had taken hours of internet crawling, an extortionate amount of money, and an extra week stuck in Barcelona alone with Victor, but _finally_ he was on his way home. There was only one problem - there had only been one seat left on the plane. Victor wasn't coming with him.

The ring swirled around Yuuri's finger, propelled by his twitching thumb. It was becoming a bit of a nervous tick. He wasn't sure what he was nervous about though.

He'd been given the all clear to fly. After another clear head scan and no worsening symptoms, the hospital had signed him off as fit to travel. The likelihood of him having a seizure over Europe was practically zero.

It wasn't really himself that he was concerned about though - Victor's eyes were red again. Weariness dragged down the Russian's face, from his startlingly pale cheeks to the heavy bags under his eyes; he'd not slept last night. Yuuri had heard his restless turning in the early hours of the morning, jostling him awake from his own slumber more than once.

His flight wasn't until New Year.

A dull, tired sparkle glittered in the Russian's eyes, the corners of his mouth upturned in a smile so forced it was uncomfortable to look at. Yuuri didn't have to for long.

Victor closed the little distance between them and pulled him into a hug, arms wrapped tightly around Yuuri's shoulders. A racing heart thudded between them. Yuuri couldn't tell whose it was. The ghost of Victor's barely-there stubble tickled Yuuri's skin and he fought the urge to squirm at the sensation when Victor buried his face in the side of his neck.

Mulled wine still lingered on the his breath. "Say hi to Makkachin for me." His accent was heavier than usual.

Yuuri's arms wound around Victor's waist.

"Makkachin?"

He inhaled deeply - Victor's cologne was back. Eyes fluttering shut, Yuuri buried his nose into Victor's jacket, breathing it in one last time. Somehow, it made the ache in his chest lighter.

Wrapped in Victor's arms - so close that he couldn't tell their heartbeats apart - Yuuri felt at peace. It was at complete odds with the chaos unfurling around him. His ears pricked as an announcement droned over the airport, half hoping it was to say his flight was delayed. Then he could stay in that blissful moment just a little longer. It wasn't.

His heart sank when Victor pulled back.

Something heartbreaking glittered in the Russian's orbs. "You don't remember Makkachin?"

He fingers still clung to the sleeves of Yuuri's coat, softer this time. He'd only leaned back enough to look into Yuuri's round brown eyes, drinking them in like he would never see them again.

Yuuri shook his head, frowning.

Victor's lips pressed together. There was that smile again - the one from the TV interview. The one that smiled, but didn't smile. A shadow crossed over his face, morphing the already pained expression in his gaze to something even more despairing.

One arm fell away from Yuuri. "Call me when you land," was all he said.

His fingers squeezed around Yuuri's arm one last time before he stepped back, something different about him when he did. He wasn't pouting anymore. A lonesome glimmer shone dully over his cerulean gaze, flickering between Yuuri and the floor as if he couldn't decide which one was less painful. In the end, he chose neither. He screwed his eyes shut. Yuuri didn't miss the way he swallowed hard.

They both reached for his suitcase at the same time and Yuuri gasped as their fingertips bumped - Victor's were ice cold.

They froze.

Something almost panicked flashed in Victor's eyes and he snatched his hand away, gaze darting up to Yuuri's for the briefest of seconds. It dropped to the floor again before Yuuri's gasp had finished leaving his lips.

Suddenly, Victor looked vulnerable. The mask of his feigned optimism cracked clean in two, leaving a glittering-eyed, blushing shell of a man behind. Pink grazed his cheeks and his bangs fell over his left eye, as if he was hiding behind it. Did he realise? Yuuri had never seen him so flustered before. It was hard to believe it was the same man who had held Yuuri strong and calm through his panic attack; he looked like a stiff breeze would shatter him.

Yuuri's fingers fumbled numbly through his coat pocket and his spare hand closed around Victor's, easing him closer. He felt Victor's sharp intake of breath as much as he heard it.

His lips quirked in a small smile as he dug out his gloves and peeled them carefully over Victor's trembling fingers. The blush on Victor's cheeks darkened when Yuuri brought them to his mouth. He sighed hotly over the Russian's hands, rubbing them firmly between his palms to warm him. Victor's wide eyes burned into him, lifting the fine hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end.

He didn't get any warning before Victor threw himself forward. The breath knocked out of Yuuri and suddenly they were chest to chest, somehow entangled even more intimately than before.

"I'll miss you," murmured quietly in Yuuri's ear, so softly he wasn't sure it was even real.

Yuuri scrunched his eyes shut and leaned into the embrace. Victor's arms were strong and welcome, holding him like he never wanted to let go. It soothed the aching thrum in his heart. "I'll miss you too." He sighed into Victor's skin.

Because it was true.

He half didn't want to go anymore.

It was a fleeting feeling, he told himself as he pulled back. He was just shirking away from the solitude he would be facing for the next thirteen hours or so before he reached Hasetsu. It wasn't Victor. He would be saying that to anybody right now, missing the company of another friendly human whoever they might be before he'd even left for his long flight. It wasn't Victor, he told himself again.

When he got back to his family, everything would be better. He knew exactly who he was in Hasetsu. Nothing bad happened there.

The corners of his mouth tweaked in a small smile. "Bye then."

Victor didn't return it.

Yuuri turned away.

His steps were almost begrudging to the checkpoint for the security gate, legs suddenly stiff like they didn't want to leave. He didn't - he wanted Victor to come with him. The realisation closed around his heart like a thin thread, stinging tighter with every step of distance added between them. He couldn't turn back though. Numb fingers handed his boarding pass to the security officer. _This was it,_ Yuuri suddenly thought as he was waved through the checkpoint. He was going home.

Just before he disappeared round the corner, Yuuri glanced back over his shoulder. Something glittered down Victor's alabaster cheek.

 

* * *

 

He curled up in the window seat of the plane, cheek pressed against the icy cold window. Outside, the world was black. Wisps of grey cloud blocked off the cities below from view, plunging the flight into darkness. It was the middle of the night.

Yuuri didn't feel tired.

His phone sat on his thigh, glowing softly in the dark. Every now and then it buzzed when Phichit sent a new message.

 _**Phichit:** _ _How was goodbye?_

Yuuri's fingers were numb from the cold; he half wished he had kept his gloves on him instead of giving them to Victor. He was probably warm and snug back in his hotel room by now.

 _**Yuuri:** _ _Painful. He looked like he was going to cry._

 _**Phichit:** _ _Ouch. Still think it was for the best?_

He thought for a moment.

Phichit had flown back to Thailand almost immediately after the competition but had been messaging Yuuri constantly for minute-by-minute updates on how he and the Russian were coping alone together. There wasn't much to report.

They had gone for walks along the beachside, ventured through the Christmas markets, and lazed in the hotel room together. Talking was scarce. What could they talk about? Most of the time they just stayed side by side in silence, soaking up each others company - except for at night, where Victor always entangled himself around Yuuri, drawn to him even in his sleep. Yuuri didn't mind; Victor was warm and it was comforting to have him close. It was only when Victor occasionally murmured his name in his dreams that Yuuri stiffened a little.

 _**Yuuri** _ _: Yeah. We need some time apart. I can't think around him._

 _**Phichit** _ _: What is there to think about? He'd hot, he's rich, and he wants you!_

Yuuri rolled his eyes.

 _**Yuuri** _ _: Is that all that matters?_

 _**Phichit** _ _: He's not a bad guy, you know, Yuuri…_

A sinking feeling suddenly dropped in Yuuri's stomach. Or was that just the bad airplane food? Either way, he gulped.

A new thread suddenly beeped on his phone.

 _**Christophe** _ _: So who goes on top? You would never tell me when you and Victor were together ;)_

Yuuri choked on air. He knew that Chris wasn't exactly shy but even this was a little beyond his expectations. He snapped a screenshot and sent it to Phichit.

 _**Phichit** _ _: OMG! What did you tell him?_

 _**Yuuri** _ _: Nothing!_

 _**Phichit** _ _: Seriously tho what is the answer to that question?_

A hot flush burned Yuuri's cheeks.

 _**Yuuri** _ _: You know we haven't…_

 _**Phichit** _ _: You literally have the hottest man on the planet willing to do anything for you and you don't take advantage of that?!_

 _**Yuuri** _ _: I'm pretty sure we were engaged for more than just sex._

 _**Phichit** _ _: So you have?_

 _**Yuuri** _ _: I don't know! I don't remember!_

 _**Phichit** _ _: You literally would have sucked his dick at the drop of a hat when you were in college. It's so weird you being so over him now._

 _**Yuuri** _ _: Phichit..._

 _**Yuuri** _ _: We met him in college?_

 _**Phichit** _ _: No, he showed up naked at your parents house in April. At least that what you told me. You called me after he tried to kiss you._

Yuuri forgot how to breathe, rereading Phichit's text over and over again as if that would somehow shift the words into something more reasonable. Heat crept up his cheeks. The blood pounding in his ears didn't help the dull throb of his headache.

His phone hummed against his thigh.

 _**Christophe** _ _: So… are you guys still together?_

Yuuri paused before he replied.

 _**Yuuri** _ _: idk_

 _**Chris** _ _: ?_

 _**Yuuri** _ _: Sorry, it means I don't know_

 _**Christophe** _ _: Do you want to be?_

Yuuri pinged back to Phichit, sending another screenshot.

 _**Phichit** _ _: Heavy for Chris..._

 _**Yuuri** _ _: ikr_

 _**Christophe** _ _: Do you still love him?_

 _**Phichit** _ _: Avoiding it?_

 _**Yuuri** _ _: Yup. Can we talk about something else?_

 _**Phichit** _ _: Do you tho?_

 _**Yuuri** _ _: No_

 _ **Yuuri**_ _: I mean, I_ like _him. He's cute and everything, but I've not even known him for 2 weeks..._

 _**Yuuri** _ _: I KNOW I obviously knew him before the accident but still_

 _**Yuuri** _ _: Do you think there's a reason it's just him I don't remember?_

 _**Yuuri** _ _: Did we fight?_

 _**Yuuri** _ _: It just seems weird that he's the only one._

 _**Phichit** _ _: idk, Yuuri, it's 4am here..._

 _**Yuuri** _ _: Sorry. Talk tomorrow?_

 _**Phichit** _ _: Yeah, I'll message you when I wake up._

 _**Phichit** _ _: Let me know what you tell Chris!_

Clicking his phone off, the air around Yuuri plunged back into darkness. He listened to his heavy sigh, tipping his head back against the headrest. His eyes stared up at the dull signs on the board above, all switched off while the plane flew smoothly.

He still didn't feel tired.

What had he done on the flight over to Barcelona? There hadn't been any books in his luggage that he'd brought and he'd already listened to enough music to leave a quiet buzzing somewhere in the back of his ears. The in-flight entertainment was an idea but as soon as he'd seen The Vow as the promoted movie choice, he'd just groaned and switched the system off. He didn't need any more reminders about his relationship-ruining amnesia.

Slumping back in his uncomfortable chair, Yuuri clicked his phone back to life. There was nothing else to do until sleep finally came for him.

News headlines were quickly eliminated. A sneak preview from a few days ago already gave him a clue about the gossip circulating - his accident, Yuri Plisetsky's historic win, or speculation about if Victor would return to competitive skating. None of them were really things he wanted to dwell on.

He clicked onto Instagram instead. His thumb scrolled through on autopilot, blinking at the stream of selfies but not really looking. It was all the same stuff. He'd seen it a hundred times. His own profile was usually pretty bare, but it wasn't from his own account that he saw his own face staring back at him from - it was Victor's.

The Russian's smile was beaming at the camera, arms stretched wide in the air with Yuuri doing the same beside him. Barcelona was behind. Pure delight was written on their faces, eyes closed over their grinning cheeks. It looked so different from the polite, perfect curve of the lips that Yuuri had seen Victor sport on the television a week ago, smiling with so much more than just his mouth in the photo; with his eyes; with his face; with his whole being. It was beautiful. He'd never seen Victor smile like around him, not for real.

He wanted to see more of it.

Google was open before he'd realised what he was doing, typing in Victor's name as if his fingers knew the keys by muscle memory. The list of results was endless.

Pictures streamed in and Yuuri's eyes flittered from one to the next, all equally beautiful and alluring in their own way. Victor skating. Victor at the podium. Victor modelling. Victor walking down a street. Victor training. Victor in a suit at the rinkside. He was flawless in every snap. In some, he had long, flowing silver hair that cascaded beautifully down his back and in others his bangs were short. All of his skating outfits were intriguing; elegant and racing, beautiful but suggestive. It made Yuuri's throat run that little bit drier the more he looked.

There was just one problem - the older Victor looked in all the photos, the more his smile seemed to fade.

The fresh-teenage Victor sported a megawatt grin, cerulean eyes sparkling with life and delight. It was stunning. Raw, and genuine. The next picture was the same, and the next - only Victor's flowing locks had been chopped off. After that, his eyes changed. The crinkle in the corners was gone and his smile was more perfect - too perfect. It was the same one from the interview. Yuuri's lips ghosted apart as he stared at a picture of Victor in a glorious pink-purple jacket. It was beautiful, but it was wrong. He was smiling, but he wasn't.

The thread around Yuuri's heart tugged. What had happened to Victor to change him? One picture, Yuuri could have put down to Victor just having a bad day. Only it wasn't one picture. There were too many to count, even the ones with Victor kissing a gold medal. Victor wasn't having a bad day. He was having a bad life.

Somehow.

Yuuri clicked open Wikipedia.

It was a very flattering article. The list of Victor's extensive career seemed to go on forever and the more Yuuri read, the more he could imagine his college-self adoring the Russian along with the rest of the world. There didn't seem to be anything not to like. He was beautiful, he was an accomplished skater, he was nice to his fans…

Yuuri scrolled down to Victor's latest competitive seasons. _Gold. Gold. Gold._ Five time consecutive Grand Prix gold medalist and World Champion! Yuuri's eyebrows inched higher up his forehead, thoroughly impressed.

There was nothing to indicate anything wrong in the Russian's life. Nothing seemed to have changed. No injury, no change of rink - nothing to throw Victor off and shrug the joy out of his smile.

Yuuri shifted his shoulders in the seat and angled his body towards the window, glimpsing up from his phone to watch the grey wisps of cloud fleet by outside. Cold still clung to his fingertips. He imagined that was how Victor felt in the photographs.

Suddenly, Yuuri wished more than ever that he had stayed behind with him.

Numb fingers scrolled further down the article:

' _ **Personal Life**_

_His sexual orientation had long been the subject of media speculation; however, prior to 2012 when asked about his sexuality, Nikiforov responded "...why do you need to put a label on it? I'm drawn to beautiful people, male or female. Who I share my private time with doesn't affect what I'm doing on the ice…"_

_Nikiforov began dating Japanese figure skater Yuuri Katsuki in 2015. The couple met at the 2014 Grand Prix final in Sochi, at which Nikiforov won gold and Katsuki finished sixth. Nikiforov subsequently moved to Japan to be Katsuki's coach. At the 2016 Grand Prix final, the pair were spotted wearing matching gold rings, though neither's representation has yet confirmed a marriage. Rumors of an engagement began circulating following an Instagram post from fellow Grand Prix finalist Phichit Chulanont, suggesting the couple had challenged Canada's Jean-Jacques Leroy as to who would marry first. Leroy had famously declared that he would only marry his fiancée after winning gold at the World Championship.'_

_Nikiforov has a standard poodle, named Makkachin._

A picture of a fluffy poodle - like Vicchan, only bigger - with Victor's arm curled lovingly around his neck and draping a black scarf around them both sat next to the text. He looked young. Long silver hair curled over the back of his shoulder and tumbled down his white sweater, bright sea-green eyes smiling out at Yuuri with dreamy happiness.

Yuuri's lips twitched in a small smile. He wished he'd known Victor then.

He caught himself spinning his ring around his finger subconsciously again. A million questions ran through his head when he looked down at it.

Chris's question was right at the forefront - did he love Victor?

It wasn't hard to see why he had before his accident. The Russian was physically flawless. It went beyond how hot he looked in a suit though - which was pretty damn hot! Yuuri squirmed in his seat just thinking about it. Little things intrigued him too; like the weird way Victor sneezed cutely in his sleep and how he seemed to cling to Yuuri _all the time._ At first, Yuuri had found it uncomfortable but after a few days, he'd kind of just gotten used to having Victor hanging off his arm. He guessed it was what he was used to back when they had been engaged.

Yuuri paused at the thought. He'd used past tense - as in, they weren't engaged anymore? Was that right? He guessed he didn't want to marry a guy he didn't know...

It had been nearly two weeks since his accident at the Grand Prix final and Yuuri still didn't remember anything new about Victor. He was learning things about him, sure. Enjoying his company? Yeah. Think he was cute - hardly even a question! But did he want to marry the guy?

No.

Yuuri slipped the ring off his finger, ignoring the bite of guilt that curled his stomach.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are approaching Turkey where the time is currently midnight. The cabin crew and I would like to take this opportunity to wish you all a Happy Christmas!"

 

* * *

 

 

Spending his birthday alone wasn't something new for Victor, but it stung more than usual this year.

The church bells rang out Christmas day outside his hotel room window, but the last thing Victor felt like doing was celebrating. Instead, he lay spread eagle on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with wide, glittering eyes.

_What had he done?_

Yuuri was gone.

In every sense of the word.

The man Victor had thought he had found a home in wasn't the Japanese guy sat on a plane thousands of feet up in the air. He'd been sleeping since that disaster at the Grand Prix final. _Sleeping_ , Victor had told himself, as if real Yuuri could wake up again. Like his Yuuri could come back. Any other alternative was simply terrifying.

Victor groaned brokenly, dragging his fingers through his hair and scrunching his eyes shut. He couldn't bear it. The thought that his Yuuri might be dead - gone forever - was far too horrifying to even contemplate.

The hotel room felt cold without Yuuri. There was too much space on the bed, too many hangers in the closet, and no amount of alcohol humming through Victor's bloodstream could ever replace the warm comfort of having Yuuri's body pressed up against his at night. A drunken flush settled over the Russian's cheeks, arm curling firmer around the pillow clutched to his chest. It was nothing like the firm pressure of Yuuri's body.

He rolled over onto his stomach with a groan, the room spinning slightly. The taste of sake lingered in his mouth. Darting, glazed eyes found the half empty bottle on the bedside table.

The blue shirt rode up around his waist, tangling from his twist and pinching over his shoulder as he reached over the bed. His shoulders were broader than Yuuri's, his biceps fuller and straining a little at the sleeves. He'd swiped it from Yuuri's case while he'd been in the bathroom. It wasn't something he was proud of, but as the neckline rode up and he inhaled Yuuri's clean, musky scent, he struggled to regret it. Victor groaned softly, eyes fluttering shut.

It had barely been five hours and already Victor missed him more than he could describe. The next week would be excruciating.

His fingers curled around the neck of the sake bottle on their second swipe - after missing it entirely on the first - and he gulped down a long swig. Yuuri had always told him to take small sips but Victor had never been good at holding himself back from what he wanted. He scrunched his eyes shut as his mind swam and the bottle bowed in his hand. With a sharp gasp, he jerked it upright again. His eyes blinked back into whatever focus they had left, glancing down at the wet mark seeping into the bedsheets. He slammed the bottle back on the table.

And laughed.

It was a deep, rolling laugh that rumbled in his chest as he flopped onto his back and ached his red cheeks, scrunching his eyes shut. Air rasped through his lungs, not helping his spinning head. He couldn't help it. If he couldn't laugh then he would have to cry, and he wasn't sure if he could-

The laughter hitched in his throat.

Water welled in his eyes.

Damn, maybe he could.

His arm slung over his face and his teeth caught on his lip, choking a gasp as pearly tears squeezed out the corners of his eyes. They felt cold running down the side of his face.

He'd screwed up. He'd screwed up big time. He'd been willing to throw everything away for Yuuri and now Yuuri didn't even want him. Flying to Hasetsu all those months ago, taking a year out of skating at his age, as if he could just come back on a whim… what had he been thinking? The plan to woo Yuuri had never gone smoothly from the moment his plane had touched down in Japan nine months ago but until Yuuri's accident, Victor had thought he'd just been able to pull it off. They'd been happy, hadn't they? They'd been engaged. He didn't need any more gold medals if he had Yuuri.

Only now, he was left with nothing. No new titles, no love of his life - not even Makkachin with him, stranded halfway across the world in Yuuri's family's onsen instead.

Victor peeled his arm off his face and reached up, his gold ring glinting in the hotel room light. He blinked at it through his blurring tears, sniffling. He'd done the same thing the morning of Yuuri's accident, dreaming of their future together.

Now, it almost seemed like they didn't have one.

His phone beeped on the mattress beside him, shuddering gently against his hip. He sucked in a shaky breath at the message.

 _**Chris** _ _: I asked, but he didn't say anything. Désolé._

Victor scrunched his eyes shut, ignoring the hard punch to his chest. He'd forgotten he'd asked Chris to talk to Yuuri. Perhaps he'd had more to drink than he'd thought. He was such a coward, asking his friends to find out what Yuuri felt about him because he didn't have the guts to face the fact the answer might not be what he wanted to hear for himself.

The phone buzzed again.

 _**Chris** _ _: I know you probably don't want to hear it but happy birthday xoxo_

Victor's lips quirked in a small, humourless smile. Blood pulsed in his ears.

He slumped back on the mattress, phone thudding as it bounced off the edge of the bed with a sickening crack. Victor couldn't bring himself to care. His lip quivered. The whimper seemed to echo round the room as his fingers curled over his face, succumbing to the raw sobs gasping from his chest. He didn't care that the tears were messy. He didn't care that his nose ran. He didn't care that air flittered between his lips so fast he could barely feel the mattress beneath him anymore, mind floating away from him.

Victor Nikiforov cried like there was no tomorrow. Not his usual delicate tears, but the wracked, strangled sobs of a broken man.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a long seven days. Too long. For Victor, it had felt like a lifetime.

He knew he looked like hell. His eyes were dull and his hair was mussed up, a tangled silver mess on the side of his face from his failed attempt to catch up on sleep on the plane. The knot of his mustard scarf was slightly off centre. It irked him, but he was too tired to fix it. His body clock lagged several hours behind the real world and it showed; his steps were slow and stiff, and his arm almost felt like it was dislocated from his shoulder, lifelessly hauling along the weight of his suitcase behind him. It felt like a sack of rocks. The effort just to drag one leg in front of the other towards the arrivals lounge felt astronomical. 

It was stupid o’clock in the morning. The sun hadn’t even risen yet when his plane had touched ground, Hasetsu dark and still. It would be peaceful walking through the empty town to the onsen - after a quick trip to the bathroom to make himself look a little more alive before he saw Yuuri. He wanted to make a good impression. 

The voice in the announcement system sounded as dull as Victor felt, the alien words rolling over his ears meaninglessly.  He should have spent more time learning Japanese.  Small yellow warning stickers stuck to the glass wall separating the tunnel and the arrivals lounge and Victor eyed them curiously, wondering what the different characters meant.  He wasn’t even sure what alphabet they were in. Kanji? That was the complicated one, right?

On the other side of the glass, a pair of blue shoes walked slowly alongside the tunnel beside him.  _ Like Yuuri’s _ , Victor thought sadly, blinking away with a sigh.  A stab of pain thudded in his chest. He would never know what the stickers said.

It wouldn’t be Yuuri, Victor knew. Yuuri would be asleep. It had been hard enough waking him when Victor had been his boyfriend-slash-coach and there was training to attend, let alone now he was a total stranger and it was the holidays. He had no reason to be up early. He would be back at the onsen, fast asleep and enjoying the lie-in. 

A small smile tweaked Victor’s lips at the thought, remembering his sleeping beauty. He missed Yuuri’s loud mouth breathing, the way his thick hair went wild in his sleep, and that anxious niggle between his eyebrows that was just oh-so cute. He couldn’t wait to see it again. Maybe if he was lucky, Yuuri would still be asleep by the time he got back and he could refresh his memory. It might be the only chance he would get now they’d be back sleeping in separate rooms again instead of the shared Spanish hotel room. His smile slipped. 

The door to the arrivals lounge slid apart and Victor jolted to a halt as his suitcase caught on the hinge, walked too close to the edge. The glass ack-ed in protest. Victor sighed, shutting his eyes and tipping his head back to the ceiling.  _ Great _ .  _ Just… great.  _

The bag suddenly lightened in his grip, someone mumbling in Japanese beneath him. Victor dragged the corners of the mouth across his face to thank whoever it was.

A blunt thud to his chest cut him off, knocking him clean off his feet. Wide eyes stared up as the walls quickly span into ceiling. Victor’s hips knocked hard against the merciless floor and his hand just about caught himself before the rest of his body fell too, his spare arm curled around whatever had hit him. 

It was fluffier than he expected.  

Makkachin’s fur was just as soft as Victor remembered, the beat of his wagging tail against his knee exactly the same. His warm tongue was rough against his cheek, lapping like Victor had been gone for years.

Tears blinked unexpectedly in Victor’s eyes. His arm tightened around Makkachin, burying his face in his dog’s curly locks. He smelled like home. 

More Japanese babbled beside him, his suitcase righted and straightened up. Victor recognised an apology amongst the foreign words. It wasn’t the only thing he recognised, frowning at the familiar tone of voice and catching the blue trainers out of the corner of his eye again. His heart thundered hard in his chest. If Makkachin was here then that had to mean -

Victor blinked up at Yuuri. The rest of the world fell away.

A brilliant beam was slapped on Yuuri’s face, eyebrows curled up apologetically as his hands fumbled to pull Makkachin off Victor. He was still mumbling in Japanese, a touch of pink grazing his cheeks. 

Victor just stared.

He must have walked into the glass after all. It was a dream, a delusion. Makkachin must have escaped from the onsen, and known Victor’s landing time somehow, and knocked him on his head and- and-

Yuuri’s face suddenly froze in front of him, mouth stilling mid-sentence. His lips hovered apart ever so slightly. They drew Victor’s gaze like a man possessed.

He missed the tiny flash of impulse in Yuuri’s eyes before the young man threw himself forward. Arms flung tightly around Victor’s neck and he felt Makkachin scramble over his legs to get out the way, swallowed up in the feeling of  _ Yuuri hugging him _ . This was bizarre, even for pre-concussion Yuuri. His wide eyes stared over Yuuri’s shoulder, a shaky breath sighing from his lungs. His hand smoothed instinctively at Yuuri’s waist. 

Words murmured in Victor’s ear and through the breathy Japanese, Victor recognised one of the few phrases Yuuri had taught him -  _ I missed you. _

The air hitched in his lungs. 

Yuuri had missed him. He was here to meet him at the airport and he had missed him. Tears burned at the back of Victor’s eyes and he curled his hand up from Yuuri’s waist to the back of his shoulder blades, holding him closer.  _ I missed you too _ , he replied silently, scrunching his eyes shut into the side of Yuuri’s neck. He didn’t think he could speak even if he tried. 

Yuuri hands closed around Victor’s shoulders and he sat back on his heels, hitting Victor full force with that adorable smile of his. That smile made the loss of Yuuri’s hug just about bearable, Victor blinking at him with sparkling eyes. Yuuri said something else in Japanese - something new.

This time Victor’s brow furrowed; the novelty was starting to wear off. Gulping, he finally found his voice. “Yuuri, English. I don’t speak Japanese.” 

Yuuri blinked, eyes round and innocent. He obviously hadn’t realised. Victor’s fingers curled in the back of Yuuri’s jacket from the effort of holding himself back from kissing him  _ right there. _ “ _ Gomen- _ ah,” his gaze darted away, blush darkening ever so slightly. “Sorry.” He shot Victor a sheepish smile. “A week of speaking Japanese, you know? It’s weird.”

Victor couldn’t help smile back. God, he’d missed Yuuri. “I know.”

He didn't really, but he didn't care. He was sure a lot of things would make a lot more sense to him after he had a good night's sleep under his belt. Yuuri was here. That was all he cared about.

Picking himself up from the floor was harder than it should have been and Yuuri’s fingers curled around his was way more of a distraction than a helping hand. Victor felt the blood redirect to his face under the warmth of Yuuri’s palm seeping through his gloves. Their fingers lingered entwined for just a second too long to be casual.

Suddenly, Victor blinked. The smile, the hug, the sparkle in his eye - could it be that Yuuri remembered him again? The breath stilled in his lungs, hardly daring to hope. It was another moment before he realised he’d wondered it aloud though.

He watched Yuuri’s expression falter and his eyes flutter down to the floor. A hand rubbed at the back of his neck. “I, um,” Yuuri stammered. “That is, I don’t-”

_ No. _ Victor translated for himself. Yuuri did not remember him.

The sinking feeling in his gut was sickening.

It was okay, Victor tried to tell himself. Maybe it was better than okay - Yuuri didn’t know who he was, but still he’d come to meet him at the airport at ridiculous o’clock in the morning. That had to mean something, right? He wouldn’t do that for just anybody. Yuuri was still fumbling for words  in front of him, wrestling with an excitable Makkachin’s fidgeting lead. His face reddened deeper with every passing minute.

Victor choked on air. No, it wasn’t okay. It hit him like a ton of bricks, forgetting how to breathe and eyes going round with longing the more he watched Yuuri trip over his own tongue. Nothing about this situation was okay.

It was all so, so wrong. Yuuri should be rolling awake in Victor’s arms not meeting a sleep-deprived shell of his former-fiancee at the airport, awkward and unsure. Their rings should be glinting in the morning light. The warmth of each other’s body should be pressed up against their skin, entangled so close that they lost track of who’s heartbeat belonged to who. Yuuri would brush Victor’s bangs back from his eyes and Victor would press a sleepy kiss to his lover’s forehead. 

That was how it should have been. The reality was very different though.

Warm fingers closed around Victor’s. When he blinked back into focus, Yuuri was wearing a smile so stiff it made Victor’s eye twitch. 

Round, brown eyes gleamed back at him, glittering as fragile as glass. Was he going to cry? Victor couldn’t tell if that glint was from unshed tears or the light bouncing off the lens of his glasses. His heart dropped into his stomach with horror. He’d not even been in the country for half an hour yet and already he’d made Yuuri cry.

His face fell into his waiting palm, biting back a groan. This was a disaster. He wished Makkachin would take him out again.

“H-happy New Year.”

Victor glanced up through his fingers. Yuuri had wrestled his gaze to their entwined fingers, face glowing. Was he going to pull away? He pulled, but his fingers tightened around Victor’s, pulling him with him. Victor stumbled forward, forgetting how to walk. He snatched the handle of his suitcase just in time. It trailed noisily behind them. 

Yuuri glanced back over his shoulder, not breaking stride. “I want to show you something.” 

The world outside the airport was still dark. The sky was black with stars glittering above them and a thin orange line hugged the horizon, bleeding into an ethereal blue that reached up to the moonlight. A tiny breeze hissed through the air, rustling an unruly lock of black hair at the back of Yuuri’s head. Victor watched it avidly. What else could he do? Everything else around him was too dark to see, still and silent. 

Victor moved on autopilot, guided by Yuuri’s sure hand and Makkachin nipping at his heels. He was too tired. Way too tired. He loved Yuuri but really, was this not something that could wait until Victor had had at least a few hours kip?    
Apparently not.

The fresh air was like a slap in the face and Victor blinked every two seconds to try and keep himself awake. Pavement morphed into sand. Victor’s shoes slid out from beneath him in surprise and he would have gone sprawling if Yuuri hadn’t caught him, an arm slung around his waist. When he blinked up, he realised they weren’t alone. 

Half the town was on the beach too by the look of it, gathered along the coastline and all watching the slow rise and fall of the ocean waves. A furious glow of yellow peeked over the horizon. 

Picking a quiet spot by the trees, Victor slumped down against the rocks before he fell down.

The sharp saltiness to the air and quiet cries of the gulls helped rouse him slightly more alert, blinking at the bright, beautiful sunrise lifting up from the ocean. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as Yuuri sat down beside him, every nerve suddenly firing to life. He felt the tension settle heavily around them, stifling and uncomfortable.

Did Yuuri feel it too? Victor glanced at him out of the corner of his eye but Yuuri's expression was unreadable. Instantly, Victor's mind flew to the worst.  _ This was it,  _ he thought with wide, terrified eyes. Yuuri was breaking up with him. Officially. 

Victor gulped hard, feeling the colour drain from his face. He didn't feel tired anymore. 

“In Japan, we see the New Year as a chance to make a fresh start,” Yuuri said quietly, making Victor jump. “You’re supposed to be able to leave your old self behind and start anew without any troubles. A clean slate.”

Victor didn’t dare breathe. His lungs ached for air but he wasn’t willing to miss a single syllable of Yuuri’s for something as stupid as breathing. At the same time, he'd give anything to be anywhere else right now. 

His tongue darted out nervously to wet his dry lips. “In Russia, we believe that we spend the new year how we see it in.” 

Victor prayed more than ever that it was true and the rest of his year - the rest of his life even - would be with Yuuri. Not stuck in this nightmare. He didn't want them to be over. He would never ask for anything ever again if he could just cling onto this one thing.

“I don’t know when my memory will come back.” Yuuri’s hands twisted in his lap. Victor watched out of the corner of his eye, holding his breath. “I can’t remember looking up to you when I was a kid or having a crush on you in college. I can’t remember you coming to coach me. But... I like you.” His blush darkened. “I really like you. So until my memory comes back… can we start again?”

Under his coat, Victor’s fingers gripped at his aching chest through his sweater, fighting to keep his face straight. He was going to die of heart failure at twenty-eight. He choked back a strangled sound by clearing his throat. 

It took a moment for Yuuri’s words to fully sink in, Victor’s heart hammering against his ribcage as they did. He wanted to start again -  _ Yuuri liked him _ ! He wasn’t breaking up with him - _ Yuuri liked him _ ! Maybe they had a chance after all -  _ Yuuri  _ really  _ liked him!  _ The childish part of Victor’s brain was having a party, banners with  _ ‘“I like you”- Yuuri Katsuki’  _ flying and fireworks popping. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. He was happy to never think anything else ever again.

The sun was slowly inching up over the horizon, spilling yellow and pink light over the ocean. Rays danced over the waves, glinting off the water beautifully. Even the gulls were quietening, seeing the first day of the new year in with awe. In the brightening light, Victor could see Yuuri’s head turn out of the corner of his vision.

Then he remembered he hadn’t answered yet.

“Yes.” His voice sounded husky. 

“Maybe we could hang out sometime?”

_ God, yes! _ Victor felt like he could faint. “Yes.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he was sure he caught Yuuri’s lips flicker into a smile. He didn’t turn to check though; he wasn’t sure his heart could take much more.

The sun had risen into a brilliant yellow arch in the sky, more circle than sem-circle. The stars and black sky had dimmed into a rich dark blue above their heads with lashings of pinks, oranges and reds kissing the lower skyline. 

“It’s tradition to watch the sunrise on New Year’s Day.” Yuuri said, so softly that Victor nearly missed it over his own rampant heartbeat. “It brings you good luck.”

Victor choked back a laugh. “You thought you would need  _ luck  _ to ask me out?”

The dark blush warming Yuuri’s cheeks was so endearing. He really had no idea how Victor felt about him, did he? Although, Victor wasn’t entirely convinced the old Yuuri had either. Not fully. Not in a way he would allow himself accept with his anxiety. Yuuri didn’t need luck to ask Victor to give them a second chance - as long as it kept the young skater  _ somewhere  _ close to him in his life, Victor would have said yes to throwing himself off a cliff without a blink.

“It was my New Year's wish.” Yuuri’s finger trailed patterns in the sand, eyes following like they were the most fascinating things in the world. The slight worried crease between his eyebrows betrayed how truly uncasual the gesture really was though. “What did you wish for?”

Victor beamed at the glowing yellow ball hovering just above the horizon - he’d already had his wish. All his Christmas wish, birthday wish, New Year’s wish, and every other future wish he ever could have had was traded in for this one moment on the sand with Yuuri. Words couldn’t describe it. It felt like that same well of emotions from the Sochi banquet, when Victor had fallen head over heels for Yuuri for the very first time. No words; just raw, overwhelming emotion.

He didn’t fight it. 

Warmth rolled over him that had nothing to do with the rising sun, curling in his gut and almost bringing tears to his eyes. He got a second chance with Yuuri. He wasn’t going to waste it.

Their shoulders bumped and Victor’s fingers splayed out smoothly over Yuuri’s in the sand, the tiny grains cold to the touch. Yuuri jumped at the contact. He didn’t pull away though.  _ Good,  _ Victor thought silently, trailing a fingertip along the line of Yuuri’s jaw to turn his wide-eyed face to him. His fingertips danced under Yuuri’s chin in a featherlight touch.

The first time Victor had touched him like that - when he’d first come to Hasetsu - Yuuri had scampered away red faced and flustered. But Yuuri was different now. Whether he remembered it or not. The accident may have rocked his memories, but Yuuri hadn’t gone back to the anxious husk of a person he had been when Victor had first come to coach him. He had still grown as a person, even if he didn’t remember it. Victor just needed to figure out how much of his new-found confidence and exposed sensuality had lingered through the crash.

This time, Yuuri didn’t move a muscle.

Surprise flashed in his round brown orbs, nerves rolling off him in waves. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and Victor wasn’t sure if it was just his wishful thinking or if Yuuri’s eyes really did dart down to his mouth for a fraction of a second.

Victor’s chest felt like it was going to burst with adoration, heart hammering wildly out of control.  _ Pull it together, Nikiforov,  _ he willed of himself, stroking the overgrown strands of black hair out of Yuuri’s eyes with tender fingers. He didn’t miss the way Yuuri shivered. It brought a soft smile to Victor’s lips, drinking in every detail. He had missed being close to Yuuri; obviously, something inside Yuuri had missed it too.

He leaned in closer, breath sighing over Yuuri’s mouth. “I think you know.” 

Their lips brushed.

 

* * *

 

_ Stammi Vicino.  _

The rich, operatic Italian tones seemed to fill the Ice Castle rink from Yuuri’s iPhone with a mournful, longing tone, challenged only by the smooth scrape of skates that glided perfectly in time with the music. Victor had seemed to know the song would be in Yuuri’s music library before he had himself. It sounded vaguely familiar.

Victor’s grey hair whipped around him as he skated across the rink, gliding so smoothly over the ice it was like he was dancing on air. Yuuri could see why he was a five time world champion - everything was perfect! Every movement was fluid and deliberate, tender and graceful; it bled with emotion, oozing from Victor’s almost pained expression. Yuuri felt the blush rise to his cheeks just watching, heartbeat in his ears. It was beautiful.

“I skated this?” he barely recognised the squeak of his own voice. “Really?”

The tune was both pleading for love and begging for it to go away, tugging at Yuuri’s heartstrings in a way he couldn’t explain. Victor seemed to skate it perfectly though, echoing his emotions through his passionate performance right down to his fingertips. 

Yuuri couldn’t imagine skating like that.

“Yeah.” Yuuko said softly beside him, eyes glowing with memory. “It was Victor’s last free skate before he came to coach you.”

Even in his long sleeved black t-shirt and grey jogging pants, Victor looked stunning. Yuuri couldn’t imagine what he must have looked like on the ice in competition, donned in one of those breathtaking outfits that he’d seen from his Google search on the plane. They’d looked beautiful in the pictures. He bet they’d look even better flowing over Victor’s lithe body as he skated. It was a heartstopping thought.

Despite that though, Yuuri’s sank a little. Disappointment spiked through him. “So I copied him?” 

His shoulders slumped and he couldn’t hide the downward turn to his voice, not realising it was coming until the words were already out of his mouth and it was too late to take them back. 

He’d thought he was better than that…. 

“We imitated him when we were kids. It's how we fell in love with skating.”

“You didn’t want to just copy him though,” Takeshi said from beside his wife, eyes glued to the rink as much as the rest of them. “You wanted to surpass him. That was what you told me when he came to coach you. I laughed at the time, but...” his head shook, trailing off.

“I know you can do it.” Yuuko finished for him. Her voice was quiet with determination. 

Yuuri wished he could share it.  

Leaning forward, he braced his palms on the top of the barrier and fixed his eyes on Victor, watching every move in every detail. He didn’t want to look away. Every jump was textbook with it’s precision, every line naturally graceful, and every expression raw with emotion that you just couldn’t learn to wear for a performance. It reminded Yuuri of the sadness he felt looking at the photos of Victor’s fake smile on the podium - this was that same despair, only in motion.

“Anything come back to you yet?”

Yuuri barely heard Takeshi. “Not really,” he mumbled.

He remembered a few things. Makkachin had quickly flooded back when the poodle had jumped him at the onsen on his first day back and the gaps in his Eros routine were starting to fill, but Yuuri knew they didn't want to hear about the dog or skating. They wanted to hear about Victor. 

And Victor was … complicated. 

Yuuri was confused. That kiss on the beach had confused him. The clean slate he’d offered on New Year’s Day had already been blemished and the worst bit was that Yuuri didn’t even mind. Fingers drifted up to his lips, remembering their brief caress on the beach. Victor had kissed him - and Yuuri wanted him to do it again.

It wasn’t Victor, Yuuri told himself. It was the tiredness, and the emotion of seeing his family again, and whatever healing that was going on in his brain all mashing together in a confusing array of emotions that desperately wanted to be comforted. And there Victor had been, open armed and open mouthed. How could he resist? Victor had thrown himself at him, that tiny half a second of their lips grazing together soothing Yuuri’s panic like ice to a burn. It wasn’t Victor.

Maybe someday he would actually believe it. 

“Yuuri!” 

Yuuri blinked, and Victor was there. The music had stopped. 

Bright blue eyes batted at him, leaning over the barrier until they were nearly nose-to-nose and gloved fingers smoothed over Yuuri’s at the boards. Victor would have been purring if he wasn’t still catching his breath. “Well, what did you think?”

Heat crept up Yuuri’s face instinctively, feeling warmth radiate off the Russian in waves. “I, um.” He forgot how to speak, words suddenly the most confusing concept in the world in that moment. 

What did he think?  _ Perfect, _ was his first instinct. Just perfect. Victor’s skating was just as captivating as the rest of him, leaving Yuuri craving for more in a way that his thoughts just couldn’t wrap themselves around. Let alone his tongue. No wonder he’d adored Victor. He couldn’t say that though - not out loud! Victor made it so hard to think of rational alternatives though when he was so close, Yuuri able to count each individual eyelash framing his glowing sapphire eyes. 

“Um.”

His mind went blank, suddenly unable to comprehend anything beyond the sweet tang to Victor’s panting breaths washing over his mouth. Eyes fluttered in pleasure. He’d long given up trying to control the runaway heartbeat pounding at his ribcage. 

“Good,” he gulped, remembering the question. “It was good.”  

Victor’s smile flickered. “ _ Good _ , huh?” 

Yuuri’s teeth snagged his lip to hold back his groan. He agreed -  _ good _ was not nearly good enough to describe Victor’s skating. It had been a gold medal worthy routine! It was better than good. But with Victor’s warm hand over his and heat radiating off his body, an elegant bead of sweat running down the side of his face-

Air hitched in Yuuri’s throat and he realised he’d forgotten to breathe. Victor’s beam bounced back on his face. 

His fingers tightened around Yuuri’s and pulled. “Now you try.”

“What? No!” Yuuri dug his heels in, tugging back against Victor’s grip. His trainers won against Victor’s skates easily. “I can’t-”

“You did it before.”

“I don’t remember the routine!”

“I’ll show you again.”

“Victor!”

Under Victor’s grappling hands, Yuuri fought the smile twitching at his lips. He couldn’t help it.  

Light danced in Victor’s eyes and his spare hand found Yuuri’s forearm, fingers trailing along the skin in a touch that seared even through the thin gloves. His wide, carefree smile settled into something a little more wicked; the red flush creeping up the back of Yuuri’s neck reached an alltime high as he noticed, heart skipping a beat.

It hit him all at once - Victor was  _ flirting _ .

Suddenly, it was obvious. 

“Okay,” Victor’s fingers slipped away from Yuuri’s arm, but he didn’t let go of his hand. “But soon,  _ da _ ? I really want to see you skate that routine.”

Yuuri couldn’t do anything but nod. Between Victor’s fluttering eyelashes, sultry eyes, and the very deliberate sigh that breathed over his lips, Yuuri was sure he would have agreed to pretty much anything the Russian had asked of him in that moment. 

Leaning over the barrier, Victor propped his elbow up on the boards and leaned his chin into his palm. He stared at Yuuri shamelessly. The pad of his thumb grazed over Yuuri’s knuckles and Victor murmured something in a language Yuuri didn’t understand, though the fond tone to his voice was unmistakable. 

It hitched when he nudged Yuuri’s ring finger.

Victor’s thumb backtracked. It grazed back over the base of Yuuri’s ring finger as a tiny crease cinched between the Russian’s eyebrows, half a second before his eyes darted down like lightning to Yuuri’s right hand to see for himself.

Yuuri’s heart dropped into his stomach; he knew exactly what Victor was looking for - the engagement ring. It was sat on his dresser back in the onsen instead of on his finger. Yuuri could remember its spot exactly. He had meant to tell Victor about his decision that day at the beach so they could talk it over then, but then Victor had kissed him and, and … and honestly, Yuuri hadn’t wanted to spoil it. It had just been so nice to see Victor again, soothing the empty chasm that had carved deeper inside him with every passing day apart. After that, it had been too late.

He wished now more than ever that he’d just found the time from  _ somewhere,  _ watching what little colour that had bloomed in Victor’s cheeks pale whiter than white. Every inch of his body stiffened. “Maybe another time.” 

Yuuri’s hand slapped back to his side.

There was a shadow over Victor’s face as he whizzed past Yuuri to the gap in the boards, head bowed low so his silver bangs hid his eyes. What was he hiding? Anger? Hurt? A pained blend of the two? Yuuri was frightened to find out, listening to the clicks of Victor’s skate guards setting in place as he stepped of the ice instead. He hung his head.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Victor hunch over a bench, unlacing his boots with fumbling fingers.

Yuuri licked his lips nervously. “Victor, I-”

“It’s fine.”

His tone was definitely not fine.

Victor’s fingers ripped open the lacing of his boots with unnecessary force. “I just thought…” his head shook softly, trailing off. “I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought.”

_ It does _ , Yuuri countered in his head though he didn’t dare say it aloud. His head bowed lower, unable to look Victor in the eye. He wished Victor had finished his sentence. He wished he’d never taken his ring off. He wished for a lot of things, but he'd wasted his actual wish on the idea of a new start with Victor that he didn't even want anymore. Starting off as strangers was a numbing concept when Yuuri still remembered the exact pressure of Victor's mouth on his and the soft, plumpness of his lips.

Hands curled into fists at his sides in frustration, biting his lip against the demeaning voices whispering insults in his head.  _ Stupid _ .  _ Idiot. Moron. _ It was all his fault after all. He couldn’t even hold Victor’s hand without it screwing up!

Victor stood up stiffly from the bench, running a hand through his already ruffled hair. It didn't look anywhere as casual as it was meant to. 

His sigh could probably be heard from the other side of Japan. “Yuuri, I ...”

The words made Yuuri flinch. He dug his thumbnail into the skin of his palm to distract himself from the shooting pain stabbing through his chest. Hot tears stung at the back of his eyes. He held his breath, waiting for Victor to just get it over with and end things already so he could hurry home and sob his heart out. Where had Takeshi and Yuuko gone? When had they slipped away? He was suddenly glad of the privacy though; he didn't really want an audience to watch him get dumped. 

“I want to take you out.”

_ What? _

Yuuri glanced up. That hadn’t been what he’d expecting. Surprise flashed over his face, but it was the least of his worries as he settled on Victor’s determined expression, his aquamarine eyes hard yet soft at the same time. “I, um,” he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry?” 

He must have misheard.

“Let me take you out.” Victor repeated. “On a date. Did I say that right? You said you wanted to hang out, right?”

Yuuri frowned. “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

Between their leisurely baths in the hotsprings, morning runs along the beach and watching Victor skate at the Ice Castle, Yuuri had assumed that his hanging out request had already been met. Of course, he knew that. Victor knew that. He was just taking it up to the next level.

Victor didn’t blink, unfazed. “Do you have plans tomorrow night?”

“No.”

Of course, he didn’t. Victor knew he didn’t. A part of Yuuri blushed a little - it was still nice that he’d asked though.

Something started to soften in Victor’s expression, lips quirking in the corner. “Good,” he said. His eyes started to sparkle again. “I’d really like to take you out before the new season begins. We never really got much of a chance before… well, before.”

_ Before the accident _ , Yuuri translated in his head. His frown furrowed a little deeper - they were engaged but they’d never been on a date?

“So?”

Yuuri blinked back to reality again. “Huh?”

“Will you go out with me?”

“Um, yes.”  _ Like he would say anything else! _

A smile smoothed over Victor’s mouth, but it was nowhere near as broad as a few moments ago when he’d been trying to tease Yuuri onto the ice. It was still pretty though. “Great.” Victor winked, hand on his hip. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to try and update every second Thursday. Can't promise I will 100% always be able to meet it but will do my best. 
> 
> Chapter 6 should be out on 25th May.
> 
> Date next!!!


	6. Chapter 6

Eight o’clock swung by faster than Yuuri had been prepared for, still halfway through knotting his tie while fixing his hair at the same time when Victor knocked on his door. He cursed under his breath when a few strands broke formation and flopped over his face.

“It’s open,” he said, not taking his eyes off the mirror. “Five minutes.”

His fingers fumbled ridiculously at the base of his neck like it was the first time dressing himself; he could be working on his tie for the rest of his life and still not have it fixed.

A low whistle sounded from the doorway. 

“Wow, Yuuri! You look amazing.”

Victor sounded just a little breathless. 

His appreciative gaze ran up and down the length of Yuuri’s body with an intensity that burned and Yuuri felt every lingering second of it adding to the colour quickly pooling on his cheeks. He tried to ignore it, fingers numbing; it didn’t work so well. He un-threaded the tangle of his tie and straightened the length down his chest to start again for the hundredth time.

The Russian in the doorway was very distracting. Even out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri could make out the shape of Victor across the room, his forearm braced casually up against the doorframe while he waited. A delicate, knowing smile played on his lips. His body was clad in a checked grey suit that looked painted on and hugged his lithe figure in all the right ways, a royal blue tie making his eyes pop all the brighter. A smattering of silver bangs hid his left eye, and Yuuri couldn’t help but be jealous of the perfect way they fell while even more of his own unruly black locks slipped down onto his forehead.

He quickly smoothed them back and blinked back to the mirror before Victor caught him staring. The brown eyes staring back in his reflection were just a fraction wider than before.

It was just dinner, he tried to tell himself, accidentally knotting his thumb in his tie as he did so and cursing under his breath. He had no reason to be nervous. Just a dinner with Victor, to learn more about one another and have a proper do-over. Nothing romantic. It was not a date. 

Victor’s Italian shoes clicked softly on the floorboards. “I got something for you.” 

“Oh, um-”

Abandoning the tangled mess of tie attempt number three-thousand, Yuuri flickered his gaze to Victor as he stepped into the bedroom. The hand that was hid behind his back moved forward.

“They’re kind of my signature.”

Yuuri blinked at the rose in Victor’s hand.

It was royal blue - matching Victor’s tie - and was just ...perfect, really. Yuuri hadn’t known blue roses even existed, let alone they existed in Hasetsu. How had Victor found one on such short notice? The petals curled in textbook formation, framed by a single jagged-edged green leaf along the barely thorned stem. 

He took it with numb fingers, heat grazing his cheeks. So much for  _ not a date _ . There was something else too; _ how could he say it... _ “Thank you, but um, I’m actually allergic to roses.”

Victor’s jaw fell open. “W-what?”

“It’s nothing serious. I just get a rash from the petals, that’s all. It’s more embarrassing than anything...” Yuuri tried to force a smile but quickly gave up when what little colour remained in the Russian’s face just drained away with impressive speed. “You didn’t know that?”

Absolute horror was written all over Victor’s expression, eyes wide and glittering like Yuuri had slapped him rather than just confess his annoying allergy. No. He had not known that about it, it seemed. His mouth hung open in a perfect ‘o’, skin whiter than white.  For a moment, he looked too still; Yuuri realised he’d stopped breathing. 

_ It was just an allergy _ , he wanted to say, already wishing he hadn’t said anything and had just dealt with the ensuing irritation in silence. A stupid rash was not worth Victor asphyxiating himself over. The words choked up in his throat though, blood pounding in his ears.

He registered the downward flicker of Victor’s eyes half a second too late.   
The flower whipped out of his hand. 

“Ah!”

Yuuri gasped before he could help it, a sudden sharp pain stabbing at his finger. He stared down at the bead of blood slowly building on his fingertip. A thorn must have snagged him.

It might as well have stabbed him through the heart though by Victor’s reaction. His eyes popped wide with horror. Yuuri could practically hear the flurry of expletives running through the Russian’s head, every single one mirrored out in his mortified expression and sentiment echoed in the strangled groan that slipped out of his mouth. Victor bit his lip at the noise, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. He looked ready to drown himself in the onsen. 

Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat. “I-It’s okay. It’s just a prick.” It really was. The blood had already stopped flowing, leaving just a tiny red dot on the edge of Yuuri’s finger.

Victor just blinked at him.

“Have you got a tissue?”

“I, um-” Victor attacked his suit, patting madly at the pockets. “No, I-” He cut himself off - pockets empty of tissues - and clapped his hands over his face. His next breath sounded shaky. It groaned through his fingers.

Yuuri felt his own breath hitch. He was used to dealing with his own meltdowns but face to face with somebody else's was something else entirely. He’d never been on the comforting side before. What did he do? Suddenly all the tips that helped him during his anxious moments flew out of his head and even if they hadn’t, Yuuri wasn’t sure if they would have worked on someone like Victor. Victor wasn’t like him. Victor was different. 

His fingers trembled slightly over his face. Yuuri prayed he wasn't crying. “I'm  _ so _ , so sorry, Yuuri. I didn't mean-”

“R-really, it's fine.” 

Round, glistening blue eyes peeked up over Victor's fingertips and Yuuri's breath caught. How could he still be so pretty even when his plan was crumbling around him? 

Yuuri fought the instinct to reach for the gold band tucked in his jacket pocket. He wasn’t sure why he’d slipped it in there; he’d been the one insisting it wasn’t a date after all! Something about it was comforting though, just knowing it was there. 

Perhaps it was there to cut through the unspoken lies he whispered in his head. _ It wasn’t a date _ , Yuuri told himself again - to Victor, it was so much more important than just a date. 

Suddenly, Yuuri’s collar felt a little too tight, stifled in his fancy suit. 

It definitely wasn’t his. He hadn’t noticed the difference when he’d packed it in Barcelona and hadn’t bothered taking it out again until Victor’s mysterious dinner had demanded it. It was nothing like the department store sale suit he remembered owning. This one had an Italian label that Yuuri couldn’t even pronounce and looked more expensive than the rest of his wardrobe all clubbed together, matched with a smooth black waistcoat, pristine white shirt and sleek gold tie that Yuuri didn’t remember buying. 

It was beyond perfect, moulded to his body like it was stitched by angels. The only thing even remotely unpleasant about the whole attire was the high-end price tag that it no doubt came with. Yuuri had a feeling Victor had something to do with it.

He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple brushing against the inside of his stiff collar. He reached up to adjust it.

Victor’s fingers caught his wrist. 

The bright blue of Victor’s gaze melted into a thicker sea-green and Yuuri frowned at it, mouth running dry at the mesmerising change of colour. He didn’t miss the way Victor gulped too, lips parting like he wanted to say something.

He didn’t - he nodded downward instead. Yuuri followed it down to his own fingertip and the penny dropped.  _ Oh.  _ The crimson dot of blood was still there.

No wonder Victor had stopped him, fingers loosening around Yuuri’s wrist now that he’d spotted his near mistake. The shirt was barely out of the tags and Yuuri was already nearly staining it crimson! Heat crept over his face. He remembered his tie.

“Um,” Yuuri glanced down. “Can you help me?”

He couldn’t knot the damned thing properly anyway and certainly not with - literally! - blood on his hands. Victor’s tie looked perfect. He was obviously more used to this kind of attire than Yuuri was. 

Victor only hesitated for a moment. His fingers ghosted away from Yuuri’s wrist and he slowly pinched the silky material of Yuuri’s tie resting over the lapels of his jacket, pausing a moment to feel the slight weight of it in his hands. His eyes flickered up to Yuuri’s. Something darker swirled in Victor’s. 

Victor didn’t need his eyes to knot a tie though it seemed, hands suddenly moving with annoying dexterity. He knew exactly what he was doing. They nipped and folded, moving with a quiet assurance that made heat burn Yuuri’s cheeks in embarrassment at his own pathetic attempt a few moments earlier. Victor’s fingers moved with a grace and precision that was just mesmerising. His knuckles grazed over the skin of Yuuri’s throat as he ran the knot up to the base of Yuuri’s neck and Yuuri wondered if he’d noticed him gulp. If he hadn’t, there was no way he could miss his haggard breathing. 

Even when he was finished though, Victor’s hands didn’t move away. “There,” his breath was hot over Yuuri’s mouth. “Perfect.”

 

* * *

 

 

Victor stared at the sign hanging from the restaurant’s doorknob and it was like somebody had shot him. He didn’t know Japanese but he knew full well what the handwritten characters said.

“Oh,” Yuuri said behind him. “It’s closed.”

Something inside Victor died a little actually hearing it. He braced his forearm against the door and hung his head in defeat, forehead resting on his sleeve. The locks jingled. Mocking. His fingers clenched in a white knuckled fist, crude swearing blooming inside his head.

Yuuri’s gaze was soft on his back but Victor didn’t have the nerve to turn around and face it. His plan was in tatters, shattering like glass more and more with every passing moment.

The tension in the air started to thicken in the silence.

So much for his big, impressive date.

The restaurant was most definitely shut down. Victor eyed the fancy swirls dancing in the corner of the small window panes with disdain, the gold pattern dull against the blackness inside instead of glittering under romantic candlelight. The old wooden doors were firmly locked, closed sign hanging by a single brown thread from the doorknob. Even the air around the building had managed to sink into a lifeless chill. It didn’t match the warm glow of the street lamps lining the riverside .

This was supposed to be the night he wooed Yuuri into putting his engagement ring back on. He’d wanted their date to be special; to whisk Yuuri off his feet so much that he couldn’t help but fall in love with him again. Everything was supposed to be perfect.

So far, it wasn’t looking good. So far, Victor would be amazed if Yuuri ever wanted to see him again after this let alone agree to marry him one day! A hissed obscenity breathed from Victor’s lips. He wasn’t sure what else to say.  _ Sorry _ ? Sorry didn’t cover risking an allergic reaction, wounding Yuuri and dragging him out into the brisk evening chill to a restaurant that was shut.

More Russian obscenities muttered under Victor’s breath, breaking free of his thoughts. His shoulders started to tremble.

“ _ Shiroi Hato…”  _ The name painted over the door of the restaurant was written in delicate English letters and Victor heard the chord of recognition in Yuuri’s voice as he read it aloud. “Now I think about it,  _ Okaasan  _ mentioned they’d closed due to lack of business.”

_ Please stop talking _ , Victor willed silently in his head, biting back a groan. His shoulders slumped in defeat and he rested his forehead against his arm, scrunching his eyes shut as he clung to his composure. Honestly, it was a miracle that he hadn’t thrown himself in the river already. Things couldn’t possibly get any worse - short of Yuuri twisting an ankle falling over Makkachin when they got home or choking himself on the tie Victor had bought him.

He was the worst boyfriend ever.

The gold ring hung heavily on Victor’s finger, chilled metal burning against his skin like a brand. He had a feeling he wouldn't be wearing it for much longer. Yuuri’s was still missing.

The love of his life was slipping away. Taking his engagement ring off was just the beginning and Victor could feel it like a sucker punch to the gut. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to swear, and skate, and break things – but Yuuri was still behind him, watching his every move. Victor scrunched his eyes shut, sucking in a breath that wasn’t anywhere near as calming as it should have been.

He didn’t know how to calm down. He’d never really needed to before. New emotions swirled thickly inside of him and he swallowed hard against the pain, the anger, the frustration – everything! It was all so new to him. His heart pounded hard against his rib cage and his chest felt tighter than usual. Was this how Yuuri felt when he panicked? How did he cope? Not that Victor was panicking … was he? He’d never really felt panic before. Never needed to. This was the first time in his whole life that he wasn’t confident of himself; wasn’t one hundred percent sure of what to do.

Yuuri had been the one that had somehow coaxed Victor to feel again after so many years alone, but right now Victor wished more than anything he would take it back. He couldn’t think. He didn’t know what to do.

“Um,” Yuuri’s quiet voice cut through the silence. “I think I know somewhere we could go. It’s not as fancy, but it’s good.”

Victor tilted his head ever-so-slightly.

It was enough to see Yuuri out of the corner of his eye, framed by soft rays of silver moonlight. The river glittered behind him. A soft smile curved his lips, eyebrows barely pinched together.

Victor could have slapped himself when he realised that he was staring.

 

* * *

 

Two hours later, they sat on the bridge over the river, legs hanging off the edge and eating ramen from Nagahama Ramen branded takeout pots. A half empty bottle of sake sat between them.

It may not have been as fancy as Shiroi Hato but it was still good.  _ Comfortable _ . Instead of candlelight, they had stars. Instead of champagne, they had sake. Instead of an expensive dinner, they had thousand yen ramen which was somehow even more satisfying. The air wasn’t as warm as the restaurant would have been but there was still only a tiny salt-tinged breeze that rolled gently through the town – nothing that the warmth of the alcohol couldn’t compensate for.

Suddenly, Victor tapped Yuuri's arm.

“Just watch this!” He checked his watch. “It’s almost time.”

Yuuri looked up, following Victor’s finger to the dark sky with a frown. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be looking for. The sky was pretty. A generous smattering of stars twinkled against the darkness and the round, glowing moon shone brilliantly from on high. Everything was peaceful, quiet.

Then it all exploded.

Light burst over the ocean in one huge bang, too many fireworks – in every shade of red, pink and white – to count all exploding at once. The blast was otherworldly. Yuuri jumped and nearly dropped his chopsticks in the river.

Beside him, Victor laughed.

“Ha! I knew it!” he barked, accent thick. “I knew it wouldn’t work. They said they could make them into a heart. It was going to be so pretty…”

Yuuri’s heart twanged with sympathy; it sounded like Victor had officially given up on trying to salvage the evening. He’d obviously put in so much thought and effort into making it all special, but everything had just fallen flat in the most spectacular way. Victor was just anticipating the next catastrophe now. The embarrassment was gone; perhaps he'd used up all the embarrassment he had in him and all that was left was to either laugh or cry about it. Laughter won.

The sake had probably helped. It wasn’t the refined champagne Victor must have inevitably had planned for them but it was alcohol nevertheless, and it was enough to take the edge off.

A soft smile curved at Yuuri’s lips. “It still is.”

“It’s not the same though,” Victor whined. “I wanted to impress you.”

Yuuri’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead at Victor’s blunt honesty. He may be a little buzzed from the booze but he was nowhere near as hammered as Victor. Victor must be very drunk - he certainly looked it! The Russian’s cheeks were flushed pink and his white dress shirt hung half undone, tilted unevenly over his shoulders. When had he unbuttoned it? Creamy flesh was on display from his collarbones, betraying the slightest swell of his pectoral muscle further below.

The next bite of Yuuri’s ramen was slightly harder to swallow as he noticed.

Victor took a long swing from the sake bottle, grimacing a little. “You must think I’m the worst boyfriend ever. Taking you out on such a…” he searched for the word in English, blinking a few times, “ _ bad _ date.”

The bottle passed to Yuuri.

He shrugged, sipping a little more tentatively than Victor - he’d thought Russians were supposed to be good at handling their drink? “It’s not been  _ that _ bad.” He ignored the d-word.

“I've been on a lot of dates,” Victor waved him off. “I know a bad one. This is a bad one.” Whatever he said next was slurred in Russian.

An unexpected stab of jealousy ran through Yuuri. He didn't want to think about Victor on other dates. He just didn't. Something about it made his stomach twist and his noodles suddenly completely unappetising. He toyed with the idea of more alcohol.

He just frowned at the foreign words instead. “What?”

More Russian answered him. New, unfamiliar words. Yuuri still didn’t understand. Victor just smiled to himself, silver bangs falling softly over his eyes. “You kissed me on TV once,” he finally said in English.

Yuuri’s chopsticks clattered into his pot. “What?!”

“No…” Victor tipped his head to the sky, moonlight shining off his pale skin in an almost ethereal glow. The tiniest crease pressed between his eyebrows as he remembered. “No, I kissed you. You were so surprised - but you did confess you loved me on TV though. That  _ was  _ you.”

Yuuri blinked. He didn’t know what to say. What was wrong with him? Confessing he loved Victor on TV - that didn’t sound like him!

Victor leaned into him, dropping his head down onto Yuuri’s shoulder. The warmth of his glowing cheek radiated through Yuuri’s thin white shirt, practically singing his skin below. Just because it was him; because Yuuri could feel everywhere that Victor touched him like a lightning strike.  

“As soon as I saw that video I knew you were the one.”

Yuuri frowned. Did Victor mean the Stammi Vicino video? He didn’t get a chance to ask before Victor went on.  

“You were so pretty.” His cheek nuzzled on Yuuri’s shoulder like an affectionate cat as he practically purred. The flush on his cheeks felt white-hot. “So perfect. I love watching you skate. You’re always so beautiful.”

The breath hitched softly in Yuuri’s throat at Victor’s words, heart thudding just that little bit harder. He was stumped, floored with… well, he wasn’t sure. His heart raced and he felt warmth shoot through him that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Victor looked perfect, resting on his shoulder. Silver bangs draped over his face and a content smile curved his plump lips, glistening slightly with the sip of sake that clung to them. And those eyes…

Yuuri jolted instinctively as they blinked up to him suddenly, glittering like stars with a round, child-like innocence. They dropped down to his mouth, eyelashes fluttering prettily.

Victor’s lips drifted apart. “You’ve got a …”

It took everything in Yuuri to stay still as Victor reached up to him with delicate – slightly shaky – fingers, leaning heavier against him. The air locked in his chest, lungs just refusing to work. Victor didn’t help when he gently caught his tongue between his teeth in concentration, warm palm smoothing over Yuuri’s jawline.

He thumbed the corner of Yuuri’s mouth, hooded aquamarine eyes following the trail of his fingers while Yuuri tried not to faint. The blood rushed to his face, too hot too fast. He felt the takeout pot dent slightly underneath his clenching fingers. It was the last thing on his mind though – the only thing on his mind was Victor. That blissful expression on his flushed face, the slightly too-heavy press of his thumb against Yuuri’s mouth, and the weight of the Russian leaned almost completely into his shoulder, practically curling up in Yuuri’s arms. He was so close. Yuuri could taste the alcohol on Victor’s breath.

Half a second before Yuuri started to wonder if it was possible to induce a cardiac arrest in twenty-four year olds from attractive Russian men, Victor’s thumb grazed off his mouth. A smudge of soy sauce clung to his skin.

“There,” he smiled. “Got it.”

The air shuddered out of Yuuri’s lungs. Victor’s palm hadn’t moved from his jaw and he was still very much tucked under Yuuri’s arm, warm body pressed against his. His mouth hung close to Yuuri’s, lips ghosted apart. Victor’s shaky breath washed over Yuuri’s mouth, tasting the tang of ramen, and sake, and something sweeter that Yuuri couldn’t put a name too. It was intoxicating, leaning forward before he realised what he was doing.

“Marry me.” Victor’s voice sighed.

Yuuri didn’t see Victor’s mouth move. The words were so quiet, he wasn’t even sure if they were even real. He wasn’t sure he cared.

Victor leaned in a hairsbreadth closer.

Alarm bells rang in the back of Yuuri’s head - he should stop. As the more sober of the two, he should stop them. It wasn’t even supposed to be a date! They shouldn’t kiss. Did Yuuri even want to kiss Victor? He was so close… sucking in a shaky breath, the heady combination of alcohol and soy sauce now blended with the faint tang of Victor’s fruity lip balm hit Yuuri again.

_ Yes _ .

Yes, he did. Very much.

He inched forward into Victor’s palm, pressing his shoulder back against the Russian’s. His lips pouted ever so slightly, waiting for Victor to close the gap between them…

Victor’s eyes suddenly shot wide. Yuuri jolted himself back to reality. He leaned back a fraction to drink in the round eyed, paling expression painting itself onto Victor’s face, staring over his shoulder. Yuuri turned. Was someone watching? All he saw was the town behind him. The length of the beach stretched out behind the bridge and the Ice Castle sat a little raised off the sand in the distance, framed by trees.

Victor stumbled to his feet, pulling Yuuri with him. “Let’s go!”

It was the Ice Castle.

Victor ran with surprising coordination for someone who was too drunk to remember which language he was speaking in, but Yuuri was too stunned to argue. He let himself be pulled along, running alongside the white-sanded beach to the darkened ice rink, wondering what was going through Victor’s head. It was closed. The lights were off, the doors were locked and it was  _ way _ past opening hours. What was he thinking?

The plan became clearer though when Victor bypassed the front door entirely, following the empty building around its corner until they found the back door. Clumsy fingers punched the security code into the keypad. The door buzzed open.

A small voice in the back of Yuuri’s head protested but he ignored it as Victor’s warm fingers closed around his once again, leading him into the darkness. The chilled, clean smell of undisturbed ice filled his senses and silenced any lingering objections. It was the smell of home; where Yuuri belonged, somehow even more so with Victor by his side. The rink looked cold and lonely until the Russian stepped back into Yuuri’s field of vision as the lights flickered to life.

In the end, he wasn’t sure who pulled their skates on fastest. They raced along the lines of rental skates, grabbing their sizes and lacing them on with urgent fingers at the benches. Ties, jackets and waistcoats draped over the edge of the barrier.

Yuuri stepped onto the ice for the first time since his accident, gripping Victor’s hand tightly. He was nervous as hell. Blood pulsed in his skull like it was remembering the pain from the last time he was on the ice – or was that just the alcohol? He should not be doing this so drunk – neither of them should be – but at the same time Yuuri wasn’t sure he’d be brave enough to do it sober.

The skates were bad. He could practically hear the blades rattle as he glided slowly over the ice, but it didn’t stop him. He pushed on, lapping the rink hand in hand with Victor until he finally built up the nerve to let go. He went faster. Adrenaline pulsed through his veins and his overgrown hair whipped around his face as he built up more speed. It felt weird skating with his glasses on for a change, shielding the rush of air from his eyes. The blades of his skates were duller than the ones he had at home, making a harsher sound against the ice than what he was used to.

It didn’t seem to bother Victor though, landing a triple axel half way across the rink with a grating clink. Even drunk, he could do it with perfect form.

Yuuri itched to copy him, but he wasn’t drunk enough to be that stupid. He also wasn’t a five time world champion. There was something he could do though, he thought, sucking in a smooth breath of oxygen and clearing his mind. The soft piano notes of his free programme music trickled through his thoughts.

His arms reached and his fingers flexed, gliding smoothly over the ice in a mimicry of his free skate routine. There was too much alcohol in his system to do it justice – let alone do any jumps or spins – but he danced it at least, letting his body flow to the imaginary music. It felt right. Natural. He didn’t have to think, just feel. He’d never gotten a chance to perform it in Barcelona in the end after Victor had pulled him out of the final. Tension strummed through him at the thought. He shook his thoughts clear again. No, he didn’t want to think about it. For now, he just wanted to enjoy moving, to enjoy being on the ice again.

He paused when he noticed that Victor’s whirl of silver hair had stilled. The Russian stood stock still in the middle of the rink, beaming at Yuuri.  _ Really  _ beaming – like from the Barcelona picture on Instagram. It was real, Yuuri thought, breathlessly. It was beautiful. It was exactly what he’d been wanting to see since he left Victor behind at that Spanish airport.

His heart skipped a beat now that it was finally before him, Victor shooting his arms triumphantly in the air when Yuuri came a stop. That smile made all the anxiety about returning to the ice worth it. What had he even been afraid of again?

Victor pushed off the ice, skating over. “Yuuri!”

Out of nowhere, cold washed over Yuuri. Suddenly, he remembered exactly what he’d been afraid of.

“ _ YUURI!” _

The shout echoed through his head, fazed with memory. But still unmistakable. The shout he’d heard when he’d fallen at the final, just before he’d blacked out. Only now the voice was startlingly familiar.

He barely felt Victor’s hands close around his. The empty Ice Castle rink was suddenly full of cheers that abruptly stopped with a shocked uniform gasp, music lingering on for half a beat before it cut to a horrified silence. Shaken faces lined the stands, too many to count. It was suffocating. The ghost of something wet tingled at the back of Yuuri’s head, vision flashing red.

Then he blinked and it was gone.

Victor’s mouth was moving in front of him – still smiling – but Yuuri couldn’t hear the words. He forgot how to breathe, choked by a thick cloud of fear that settled heavily around his chest.

It broke when his heel slipped.

Victor dragged down with him. Their hands tore apart as Yuuri’s hips slammed against the ice and what little air remained in his lungs was knocked out, sprawling out flat on his back. Wide eyes stared up at the ceiling. They were thick with horror. Yuuri felt himself start to sober with every passing second, ice creeping through the thin material of his shirt. Was he cold from the ice or from shock?

He could have hit his head. He could have knocked himself out –again! And Victor. He could have hurt Victor.

Beside him, Victor laughed.

Hysterical, big belly laughs gaffed from the Russian, eyes scrunched shut with tiny tears in the corners and head thrown back against the ice. It was surprisingly ungraceful for him. The sound was somehow still melodic though. Drops of water dripped off the tips of his silver bangs and he threw an arm over his face, sleeve lapping up the moisture. “These skates are so bad.”

Yuuri didn’t say anything.

He was still shaken when they staggered to their feet, slipping again – this time, right into Victor’s arms. Victor reached for him on instinct; one strong hand grabbed Yuuri’s forearm while the other pressed into the small of his back, flattening the younger man against the length of his body. The Russian froze, breath hitching subtly. His wide, glittering eyes betrayed he was just as surprised at his own actions as Yuuri was. He didn’t loosen his hold though.

Victor’s intoxicating cologne was clouding Yuuri’s senses again as he stood flush against the Russian, red faced but too embarrassed to move. He wasn’t sure his own legs would support him anymore – especially as Victor’s bright blue orbs darkened with desire. The arms around him relaxed, moulding around the curves of his body.

“You tend to fall when there’s something on your mind.” Victor’s voice was barely more than a whisper, trailing a fingertip down Yuuri’s cheek. “Care to share?”

Yuuri wasn’t sure what made him do it.

One moment, he was slumped in Victor’s arms and counting his thick eyelashes, but in the next, Victor’s words hit him hard – along with a lethal blend of the alcohol and adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream. He grabbed fistfuls of Victor’s shirt and hauled him down for a kiss.

 

* * *

“So, how’d it go?”

Phichit grin glowed out from Yuuri’s laptop screen, still fresh faced and in his jeans from a day out in Bangkok. Celestino had given him the day off; something about his sister’s birthday, Yuuri thought he remembered.

The bright lights framing around the Thai boy’s tanned face were a stark contrast to the dark midnight room behind Yuuri. Bits of his suit were scattered over the floor, but couldn’t be bothered to pick them up yet. He’d do it tomorrow. A headache was already starting creep up on him, his eyes drooping and lids heavy. He just wanted to sleep.

There was something he needed to talk to Phichit about before he did though, while it was still fresh in his mind.

Before Yuuri could answer him, Phichit caught a glimpse over Yuuri’s shoulder – his eyes popped wide. “Oh my God, did you-”

“No,” Yuuri’s tone was tense. “He just drank too much that’s all.”

Even in the dark, the half-naked form draped faced-down in Yuuri’s bed was unmistakable, mop of trademark silvery grey hair a tangled mess.  _ That’s all _ , Yuuri rolled his eyes in his head. He only had the most decorated figure skater of their time in his bed, one that he had thrown himself at just an hour ago. He was too tired to be embarrassed about it now.

“I need to talk to you about something. I know it’s a big ask, but…” Yuuri raked his fingers through his now wild black hair, shaking his head. “Honestly I don’t know what else to do.”

“Go for it, Yuuri. What’s up?”

Yuuri told him.

He told him everything. Phichit stayed quiet while he talked, drinking in every word until Yuuri was done, slumped back in his chair as the tension rolled out of him at finally getting it off his chest. He felt better once it was all said. Lighter. On the other end of the video call though, Phichit was unusually quiet, dark grey eyes sharp and focused.

“What do you think?” Yuuri asked, teeth snagging his lip.

Phichit’s mouth opened quickly – then closed again. Something pinched between his eyebrows as he sighed, gaze shifting somewhere off screen for half a beat before they rolled back to Yuuri. He still looked concerned.

“I mean, it’s no problem with me.” He finally said after a moment. “You know I’ve always got your back, no matter what. It’s just … are you sure? Like, really sure?”

Yuuri glanced back over his shoulder.

Victor had been asleep the moment he’d hit the bed and Yuuri hadn’t had the heart to move him. He just looked so peaceful. It was a look Yuuri didn’t get to see often and he hoped it would do something to ease the bags under the Russian’s eyes; concealer had kept them hidden for most of the night, but now they glowed accusingly through the darkness at Yuuri, Victor’s weaknesses and vulnerabilities stripped bare. His jaw was slack in his sleep, lips still pink from kissing.

The curve of them in full megawatt smile still lingered in Yuuri’s mind, chest aching unexpectedly at the memory. He’d looked so happy watching Yuuri skate. Finally, Yuuri had done something right.

He needed to do it again.

Only better.

“Yes,” he nodded. “I’m sure.”


	7. Chapter 7

The tips of Yuuri’s hair brushed over his eyes as he span through his pirouette, snapping his gaze back to the spot on the wall like he would scorch a hole right through it. His eyes were like burning coals, blinking a bead of sweat from his eyelashes.

“Are you sure about this?”

A space heater buzzed quietly in the corner of Minako’s dance studio and a tiny crack in the window kept the air from getting too thick. Gentle waves of sunlight rolled in through the blinds and warmed the floorboards. The smell of salt hung in the air from the nearby coast - subtle but still there - and slow music played from the iPod docking station on the windowsill, though nobody was really listening to it anymore. The song looped over for the ump-teenth time that morning, forgotten.

Yuuri’s shoes clicked as his foot grounded behind him, reaching an arm out gracefully in front. He breathed into the stretch burning down the back of his leg.

“No,” he admitted.

There was little he’d been sure of since he’d woken up in that damned hospital in Barcelona but somehow since his and Victor’s little tryst on the midnight ice, everything had only gotten worse. Uncertainty churned sickeningly in his stomach every time he thought about his plan. It had seemed like such a good idea when it had first come to him, even when he’d stopped to talk it through with Phichit.

Even if it wasn’t, it was too late to go back. 

“Phichit’s already helped me make all the arrangements. If I don’t do this, I…” Yuuri swallowed the hard lump in his throat. “I might as well just retire.”

Last season, he’d finished in sixth place at the Grand Prix final. This season, he didn’t even finish. He’d gotten worse, not better. He couldn’t say it aloud though – it was too shameful. Minako didn’t need him to say it; after half-raising him, she knew what he was thinking.

That was why he’d come to her after all, just like he had the first time. Last time, she’d been thrilled - hadn’t been able to get him out the door fast enough! This time though… Yuuri didn’t need to be able to see Minako behind him to feel the tension rolling off her in waves, arms folded stiffly over her chest. It wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. 

Yuuri wasn’t going to pretend he was naive enough to not understand why she was hesitant though. Only one thing had changed since last time.

“What does Victor say about it?”

Yuuri froze.

Minako’s toes nudged at his heel, correcting his posture and Yuuri paused to check the rest of his position, jolting himself back to the ballet studio. He tightened his core, relaxed his shoulders, and corrected his hips. Glancing over to the mirror along the wall, he thought he looked perfect. A second later, he took it back - guiding hands curled over his, softening his rigid fingers. He groaned softly in frustration, breathing life into the simple stretch.

Ballet had always been his solace. He knew he was in ballet, confident in the elegant arch of his body and the point of his toes. In ballet, everything was controlled by his own strength and balance - there were no blades, no catches on the ice, no slightly off angles that could send him sprawling. He was as safe and graceful as his own ability in Minako’s studio. It was a comforting thought, even if he had lost a little of his flexibility over the last few months.

_ It wasn’t the only thing he’d lost _ , he thought bitterly to himself, catching sight of the deep brown depths gazing back at him from the mirror's reflection. He barely recognized himself anymore. 

_ “Maybe it’s time for you to retire.”  _

The moment Yuuri had been cornered in the bathroom by the blonde Russian teen - the first time Yurio had spoken to him - felt like light years ago, but he remembered every curt, crisp word like it was yesterday. They were embossed on his brain, resurfacing more often than he’d like since his accident in at the final. A part of him almost wanted to listen to them.

Nobody would blame him after all, not after the fall he’d taken. It would be so easy to bow out - expected, even! He wasn’t exactly young anymore. His time was coming sooner or later at some point. Nobody would blame him...

But he would. He would never forgive himself.

And worse, he might be stuck with his nightmares forever.

_ Beep… beep… beep... _

The air hitched quietly in Yuuri’s lungs, like someone had punched him in the gut. He wondered if he’d ever escape the memory of the heart monitor machine from Spain...

“I haven’t told him yet.”

Whatever had happened between he and Victor on the ice on that drunken night out had changed more than just their relationship - it had changed Yuuri’s memory. He was starting to remember. Only it was the wrong things that were coming back to him.

Flashing lights rolled over his head as they wheeled him through the hospital corridors. The bump of the stretcher in the ambulance knocked him awake at night. Instead of remembering how he met Victor, Yuuri relived the Russian’s terrified scream careering across the ice until he woke up thrashing in his sheets, cold sweat clinging to his skin and wide eyes staring through the darkness of his room like if he so much as blinked, it would morph back to the CCIB where he’d nearly smashed his skull open. He didn’t want to relive those parts of his memory; those parts, he’d rather stay forgotten.

He didn’t want to think about it … which made it the  _ only _ thing Yuuri could think about, dropping his frame into a deep plie. His thighs trembled from the effort and Yuuri focused on the pain in his body instead of that in his rib cage.

It had been his new routine since the night of the not-date - which had so obviously been a date Yuuri wondered why he’d ever even bothered trying to deny it in the first place. Exhaustion burned through his body. He’d been dancing for hours; and before that, skating; and before that, running. He couldn’t stop. He had to keep pushing. If he stopped, he might think about -

_ Beep… beep… beep... _

Yuuri pushed his leg up behind him, lifting it parallel to the floor. An arm arched up over his head, followed by eyes too fierce for the gentle dance, chasing the thoughts away. Chilled air kissed his stomach as his sweat dampened shirt rode up, revealing a slither of sweaty skin above his hipbone.

“Yuuri…”

His muscles screamed for rest but Yuuri ignored them, fighting to hold his position.  _ Just a little more,  _ he willed of himself. His shoulders trembled.

They soon gave out. Yuuri huffed a breath as he dropped down, bracing his hands on his knees and gasping at the burn coursing though his spent muscles. Sweat stuck his hair to his forehead with a slap. His black t-shirt was starting to cling in uncomfortable places. “I know.”

He could feel Minako’s gaze searing into the back of his head, unusually serious. Yuuri wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her so reserved. Glancing up, he drank in her pinched eyebrows and mouth down turned in the corners, the thin lines around her face starting to betray some of her age. She looked tired. She looked worried. About him, no doubt. About what he was doing.

Yuuri softened his features, tweaking an unconvincing smile. Even he could tell how forced it looked, feeling the tiny muscles in his cheeks pinch against it.

Something sad glinted in Minako’s eyes – Yuuri didn’t remember that from last time. “Just tell him,” she said with a heavy sigh, head shaking. Strands of her mousy brown hair fell out of her loose ponytail. “He deserves to know.”

The last of Yuuri’s fake smile slipped away.  _ I know _ .

Tomorrow, he promised himself.

He would tell Victor tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

It was an  uneasy sleep the night before Yuuri resolved to tell Victor. Endless trails of mechanical bleeping shirked him awake every time he started to relax into the pillows and distant whispers of ‘ _ Will he ever wake up?’ _ rolled through his head, so dramatic there was only one person they could be. The were a cage; they pinned Yuuri down to the bed with his fingers twisting in the sheets, cold sweat sticking his shirt to his back as ghosting flashes of white hot pain and blurry vision had him gasping for help. He spent more time than not writhing in his sheets. Each imaginary beat of the heart monitor machine reminded him of a ticking clock, running out of time - only Victor’s face had joined the bleeping, the rush of pain, and wetness of blood. Silver bangs had swayed through his dizziness, his heavily accented voice murmuring his name …

It called across the ice the next day from the edge of the rink in a singsong tone, playful smile toying on his lips as Yuuri landed yet another double jump.  _ Not enough _ , Yuuri thought bitterly to himself, skating over to the rinkside. It wasn’t enough.

Victor handed him a water bottle and Yuuri squirted some straight into his mouth, a drop running down his chin and dripping onto his shirt. With all the sweat, he didn’t even notice it. What he did notice was the way Victor’s fingers trailed along his forearm as he pulled back, the way his sinful plum purple shirt hugged his toned torso.

Yuuri’s own outfit felt painfully ordinary compared to Victor’s, even though it was no different to his normal attire. Suddenly, it made him feel as good as naked, raw and exposed. A self conscious arm crossed over his chest, feeling the dark sleeve bulge with his flexing bicep. That was new. He’d never filled out his sleeves so much before, never had so much space flapping about his narrow, toned waist. His body was changing, the month of hard work fighting to get back to his old fitness taking its toll in a not too unpleasant way. It made a change to gaining weight off season.

Victor’s hand closed over his over the barrier. “Perfect, Yuuri,” he said, body inching closer until the hairs on the back of Yuuri’s neck stood on end. “I’ve been working on a new programme for next season. I can’t wait to show it to you.”

Yuuri nearly choked.  _ Next season _ … right, Victor didn’t know yet. Yuuri should tell him. He should tell him now. 

He wasn't sure if it was Victor's words or his hand that made Yuuri suddenly breathless - Victor had barely touched him since their date. It sent shivers of surprise down Yuuri’s spine at the sensation of Victor’s fingertips trailing along his forearm as he pulled away. 

The glow in Victor’s eyes said he wanted to grab onto Yuuri, pull him forward and kiss him against the boards until they forgot how to breathe… but he didn’t. He hadn’t since Yuuri had thrown himself at him on their date. Not a touch, not a kiss, not a hug - still flirting! But nothing more than the odd wink or playful tone, like Victor was toying with him, teasing. The Russian’s hand fell away.

Maybe he didn't remember it. He had been pretty sloshed at the time and had slunk off the next morning without a word to nurse his hangover.

More likely though was that Yuuri was just a bad kisser.  Yuuri itched to run his hands through his hair and groan in frustration.  It had been all tongues, and teeth, and raw need all thrown together in a heart stopping, intoxicating mix. Yuuri had never kissed anybody like that before - at least, not that he could remember - but with Victor it had felt right. Like his body was once again remembering better than his mind could. He remembered in painful detail the exact tickle of Victor's bangs over his cheek and the soft noises the Russian had made as Yuuri had worried his lower lip between his teeth. 

He'd thought they’d been noises of want - wanting  _ more  _ \- but he'd obviously been wrong. Victor hadn't kissed him since. He hadn't even mentioned it. There was no version of reality where that was ever a good sign. 

The burning memory of where they’d kissed on that drunken night out ghosted through his mind, glaring at him accusingly from that spot on the ice behind him. He could feel the Russian’s eyes scour over him, leaving a searing trail in their wake. It was distracting. So distracting. Blood pounded in Yuuri’s head and suddenly the words he needed to say stuck in his throat. He took another swig of water, opening his mouth to try again.

_ Click. _

What?

Yuuri turned to Victor, eyebrow arched curiously – right into the phone's camera lens. Sparkling blue eyes glittered over the top.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it,” Victor said behind the iPhone, hearing the smile in his voice.  “You just looked so  _ cute  _ then.”

Yuuri felt his jaw drop, face heating up. Cute. Victor thought he was cute. Albeit, for one fleeting moment, but still … “Oh, um. Right.” He didn’t know what to say, tripping over his own tongue and actually choking when he accidently  _ inhaled _ his next sip of water instead of swallowing it. A strong hand patted his back while he coughed. It was only then he realised just how close Victor was.

Warmth radiated between them and Yuuri wasn’t sure if it was from his skin or Victor’s, or a combination of both. Their thighs brushed. Hot breath sighed across Yuuri’s cheek and he nearly swooned at the molten aquamarine eyes that stared back at him when he glanced up again. How did Victor switch like that? One moment all dewy eyed, and the next just a hot mess that there were no words to describe.

“I’ve been talking to Celestino,” Yuuri said before Victor robbed him of absolutely all coherent thought. His voice was annoyingly breathy.

A smirk flittered over Victor’s lip. “Hm?”

“And, um…” his eyes fluttered shut as Victor’s next breath flitted right between Yuuri’s barely parted lips. “He’s said I can come back. To…to train under him.”

Honeyed cereal bar and the taste of coffee filled Yuuri’s senses, drowning him. Victor’s breakfast. He remembered. He remembered looking at the label and nearly having a heart attack, wondering how Victor could eat so much sugar and still look the way he did. It tasted damned good though and Yuuri fought the urge to moan.

The air in front of him stiffened.

Then it went cold.

The tiny grate of blades moving against ice drew Yuuri’s eyes open again and he watched Victor drift back a pace, something fragile glittering in his sea-green gaze. Sea-green – he was sad. His eyes went green when he was sad.

Yuuri’s gut twisted.

Victor recovered quickly though, blinking his eyes a little bluer. His lips curved unconvincingly. “I hadn’t realised you … I mean, I thought …” He cleared his throat stiffly. “Detroit?” The word sounded strangled.

It wasn’t how Yuuri had imagined having the conversation. “No. Um, Bangkok? With Phichit. He’s going to train the both of us there.”

The colour slowly drained from Victor’s cheeks and his smile faltered. Anyone would have thought Yuuri had told him that he was dying instead of just moving in with his best friend – even if it was half way around the world… “When?” It was barely more than a whisper.

Yuuri gulped. “I fly out in a few weeks.”

Every word looked like it slapped a little more of the life out of Victor, a shuddering breath passing through his lips. It caught Yuuri’s gaze distractingly. He remembered what it had been like to kiss that mouth, lips soft yet firm, and oh-so willing…

“I see.”

A flush of red stabbed over Yuuri’s cheeks. This was definitely not how he’d envisioned telling Victor he was leaving. In his head, there had been more excitement.

He didn’t have a choice though. With Celestino, Yuuri had reached the final and placed – albeit poorly. Under Victor, he hadn’t even finished both routines. He needed to go back. He didn’t have much time left to compete; hell, it may already be too late for him now that Yurio had advanced to the senior division. If he had any chance of winning the GFP though in the twilight years of his skating career, it would be under Celestino.

And that was what he wanted to do. He wanted to skate like Victor had never seen him skate before, win the Grand Prix final and make Victor Nikiforov happy again. If watching Yuuri lazily dance his old routine made Victor beam then he could only imagine what him winning the Grand Prix would do.

For Victor, he could do it. But for that he needed to go.

“I …” Victor’s eyes dropped a fraction, darting over Yuuri’s shirt looking dazed. “Excuse me for a moment.”

He hopped over the gap in the boards and unlaced his skates before he’d even reached the benches, swiping his phone from the side. Silver bangs hid his face. Was it just Yuuri or did his shoulders look a little shaky? There wasn’t the chance to check, Victor already disappearing from view down the tunnel by the time Yuuri blinked himself back to his senses.

Yuuko strode up the corridor from the reception, pausing a beat when Victor passed her without even a turn of the head. The question was in her eyes long before she asked it, meeting Yuuri at the barrier. “Is he okay?”

Yuuri followed Victor’s shadow down the tunnel, turning right down a linking corridor. The Russian was long out of sight but something about the tunnel seems darker now somehow. Foreboding. Warning Yuuri that whatever he would find down the end of it would not be pleasant, would not bring him the comfort he was looking for. He remembered the look on Victor’s face - nothing good could come of seeing that expression again.

He swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”  _ He knew. _

But he couldn’t just leave Victor.

He pulled his own skates off with more care than Victor had, taking the time to pull on his trainers at least. Victor had walked away in his socks. His trainers sat forgotten at the benchside. Yuuri had no idea what was going through the Russian’s head, following the skirting board along the corridor with low eyes. The corridor was tighter than Yuuri remembered; walls loomed up high and the air seemed thicker than normal, choking him with the shadow of Victor’s upset.

He had known the news wouldn’t be the best, but if he just explained to Victor… what? What would he say? Even he wasn’t fully sure himself that he was doing the right thing.

At the end of the tunnel, daylight glowed from the open reception. It looked enticing compared to the close confines of the corridor, but Yuuri had seen Victor dip into the adjacent corridor before he’d disappeared. Closed doors lined the walls. Changing rooms, lockers, and store cupboards. Yuuri knew every single one. Every door was firmly shut, not a single hint as to which one hid Victor from view.

Half way down the corridor, Yuuri’s steps slowed. His ears pricked curiously. For a moment, everything was silent and Yuuri wondered if Victor had just stormed right through the corridor and had looped round the building rather than stopping to mope. Then –

_ Sniffle. _

Yuuri’s breath caught.

Definitely sniffles. Somebody was crying - and there was only one person it could be.

Yuuri took another step, treading softly. Blood pounded in his ears so loud it nearly drowned out the soft cries leaking into the corridor and he paused for a moment to calm himself. His left ear tingled.

The sniffles were broken by gasps, and the gasps were broken by hushed, urgent words. Some English. Some Russian. Yuuri couldn’t pick out the words themselves – eyes honing in on the plain blue door a few paces away – but he recognised the tone. Victor sounded so different speaking in the different languages. Any other time, it would have been melodic and beautiful to listen to. But right now Victor was crying and Yuuri felt his heart tug painfully in his chest.

He stopped in front of the door. Supply closet. Mops, and spare boarding panels, and crash mats. Victor was crying in a supply closet.

Yuuri’s palm flattened silently against the wood, inching closer.

_ “… I don’t know what to do, Yakov.” _

A choked sob broke off behind the door and Yuuri’s breath hitched quietly. It wasn’t just a few tears – Victor was giving the full water works.

Yuuri had never seen him cry, but he could imagine it. He spent enough time over his life crying himself to know what it was like. Nose running, eyes so full of tears that the world was a blur, and throat raw from trying to suck in air that just wouldn’t stay in his lungs no matter how much they screamed for oxygen. Cheeks ached from his face scrunching up and blood pulsed loudly in his ears, drowning out everything but the sound of his own gasps. He couldn’t imagine seeing Victor like that.

But he could hear it.

_ “Help me.” _

Yuuri’s forehead touched the door, scrunching his eyes shut.  _ Oh God _ – he hadn’t imagined it would be like this. 

The next words were a garbled tangle of Russian and Yuuri wondered what Yakov might be saying back on the other end of the phone. The man had always seemed so cold and rational to Yuuri. He couldn’t imagine him consoling a grown crying man down the phone line from St Petersburg. What  _ time  _ would it be in Russia? Ridiculously early, that was for sure.

Victor switched back to English.  _ “He’s  _ leaving _! He doesn’t want-” _

He spilled back into Russian without skipping a beat and Yuuri lost the conversation instantly. His meagre tourist phrasebook Russian couldn’t keep up.

Yuuri didn’t need to understand the words to understand the pain behind them though, to make sense of the reason why Victor was sobbing his heart out in a supply closet. Him. All him. Something curled around Yuuri’s heart and squeezed, choking. He didn’t want this. He just wanted to be better – for Victor. To see him happy again. It was all supposed to be for him...

Fingers curled into a fist against the doorframe and Yuuri gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to just rip open the door and swallow Victor in his arms. He wanted it to stop. He wanted to hold Victor and whisper in his ear how everything would be okay until his tears dried and he stopped trembling, murmuring comfort in English, Russian, Japanese - whatever language Victor wanted to hear. Yuuri would find a way. He’d stroke his fingers through Victor’s soft silver locks and kiss that damned engagement ring on his finger if that was what he wanted. He would do anything.

Then he blinked and gasped, eyes shooting wide. Behind the door, Victor’s sobs started to soften. Yuuri held his breath.

His gaze darted over the door, stunned by the desperation welling in his chest. It  _ hurt.  _ In more ways than just one. He’d never felt anything like that before; not from his panic or anxiety, or stress or nerves. It was new, and raw, and brutal. It frightened him. Victor made him feel that.

But Victor didn't feel the same, he reminded himself quickly. He might be upset that he'd lost his one and only pupil but Victor had made it clear that he didn't want anything from Yuuri more than that. He hadn't kissed him. He didn't want him. Victor had made that quite clear. 

Yuuri backed away from the door with numb steps, cursing in his head when his trainers made a soft padding sound on the floor. Could Victor hear it?

He turned and ran before he could find out.


	8. Chapter 8

The world blurred around Victor in another ridiculously tight twist, light and shadow blending into mottled greys broken with a flash of blue. Bright blue – like Yuuri’s jacket. Victor’s heart tugged. Bright blue, round brown eyes, jet black hair…  Yuuri hadn’t even left yet and already he was haunting him.

His snug clothes were drenched in sweat. Beads of moisture rolled off the tips of his bangs with every sharp jerk of his head. Tears streaked down his pale face and his teeth clenched, scrunching his eyes shut against the myriad of pain tumbling through him. Every muscle in his body _ached_ for rest, but he didn’t dare stop. Something primal screamed in his head. The sound choked in his throat.

It wasn’t music yet. His heart hammered like a drumbeat and the screaming echoed around his skull, but there was no rhythm to it. Soon. The more he skated, the more the routine would come to life – just like it had after Yuuri had kissed him. Only now, Victor was tearing down the bright colours Yuuri had once painted in his world, drowning out the loving melody with something so raw he wasn’t even sure there was a name for it.

He never should have stayed in Hasetsu, Victor thought, launching himself over the ice recklessly. He should have just grabbed Makkachin and ran, never looking back for fear of those haunting, blank brown eyes that didn't love him anymore and never would. In less than twenty four hours, they’d be in Thailand. Maybe Victor would never see them again.

He saw them now though, refusing to let him have even this little snippet of peace before his world inevitably crumbled. Spin after spin, they were there, gleaming at him across the rink.

Victor whipped his head around until his bangs lashed at his cheek, shaking it clear.

The ghost of Yuuri was still there, relentless. Unless –

Victor skidded to a halt.

He stared across the glittering ice, blinking dumbly at the all too real Yuuri with his forearms braced on the barrier at the rink side. It wasn’t a ghost at all. Yuuri was really here. Suddenly, Victor felt sick; if Yuuri was really here, then that meant –

“I’m just leaving.”

The words were quiet but Victor caught every syllable.

They battled with the rampant beat of his heartbeat in his ears, not sure if it was from the exercise or from the fact that _Yuuri was here and was leaving!_ How long had he been standing there watching him? Had he seen him fall? Heat flushed over Victor’s cheeks instinctively but the rest of him was too frozen to really feel the embarrassment. His eyes were so wide they hurt the corners of his eye sockets, chest still as he forgot how to breathe.

Then he remembered what Yuuri had said – he was leaving. _Now_. A sharp gasp ripped through Victor and his gaze dropped to the ice around his skates. Where had the time gone? He had been planning to get back to the onsen, and go in the car with Yuuri to the station, and…

His hands clapped loudly over his face, plans whittling away. “Oh God,” he groaned through his fingers. “I lost track of time. I’m sorry. Let me ju-”

“No, no, it’s okay.”

Victor blinked up.

The forced smile that met him cracked something behind his ribcage. Yuuri couldn’t even smile at him anymore.

It hurt more than he knew it should. Yuuri was fleeing the country to get away from him after all; the fact that he wasn’t happy around Victor should be blindingly obvious. Knowing it was something completely different to _seeing_ it though – that was why Victor had fled to the Ice Castle every day while Yuuri sorted his travel plans, trying to avoid facing the reality. It was so much worse than Victor had imagined.

“I just ...” Yuuri’s too-soft brown eyes dropped down to his loose fist, hovering over the edge of the boards and Victor’s gaze followed numbly. “I wanted to give you this back.”

His fingers uncurled.

Victor caught the glint of gold in a heartbeat. The breath hitched subtly in his chest, feeling the colour drain from his face.

“It doesn’t feel right to keep it.”

Victor felt his jaw go slack, but he felt too numb to reel it back in. Numb, and suddenly cold. Something buzzed quietly in the back of his skull and though he felt his eyes shoot ridiculously wide, he wasn’t really seeing anything beyond the gold ring nestled in his fiancée’s – no, _ex_ -fiancée’s – palm. Yuuri was talking. Victor vaguely heard the words but he’d forgotten what they’d meant, a meaningless jumble inside his head.

His eyes flicked up to Yuuri’s face, neck clicking at the robotic tilt of his head. _Was this shock_ , Victor wondered of himself, acutely aware of the swell of his heart pulsing against his ribs – was he in some sort of shock?

He still hadn’t moved. Victor wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at Yuuri’s palm, but he knew it was too long to be passed off as casual - never mind what the hell the dazed expression on his face might look like! He couldn’t remember how to move, caught in a nightmarish loop as his gaze flickered from the ring to Yuuri, then back again with dangerously shimmering eyes.

He couldn’t cry, he told himself. If this was going to be Yuuri’s last impression of him – maybe forever if Yuuri was officially breaking off their engagement – he absolutely _could not_ cry.

Finally, Victor swallowed. Hard.

“It…” his breath was shaky, scrunching his eyes shut for a moment. When they opened, Victor feel they were a fraction wetter than before. _Dammit!_ “They’re yours. Not mine. You proposed to me.”

Yuuri’s eyebrows hitched higher on his face.

“That cathedral in Spain,” Victor went on, corners of his mouth flickering sadly in memory. “When you got lost that day… that was where you proposed.”

When a thoroughly confused Yuuri had wandered back there subconsciously the day after being released from hospital, Victor had felt a renewed shred of hope for the young skater’s memory. Fate, he’d told himself. It had to be fate, Yuuri finding himself back there - a sign! But when he’d prompted Yuuri and had gotten nothing more than a blank stare back in response… he should have known then that it was over, that his memory wouldn’t be coming back. They’d been finished the moment Yuuri had stepped out of the hospital.

Victor’s brow furrowed the more he relived that first precious moment in front of the cathedral though, that original December night before the competition that was now only his to remember.

“Actually, I…” his tongue darted out to wet his suddenly dry lips, small smile slipping away. “Now I think about it, you never did ask me to marry you.” Victor realised, cold drenching through him. He reran every word that had passed Yuuri’s lips that night. “Good luck charms, you’d said. I said they were engagement rings.”

He’d been the first one to say it not Yuuri, Victor suddenly realised, thinking back to the drinks with the other skaters that evening. The words ‘marry’ or ‘engagement’ had never passed Yuuri’s lips. Victor had just assumed, so caught up in the whirlwind of his own happiness…

He blinked down to the gold ring glittering on his ring finger. The _good luck charm._ He took a measured breath, feeling his head swoon slightly. “I guess it didn’t work.”

Victor slipped off the ring with unsteady fingers.

 

* * *

 

It was five am in Thailand by the time Yuuri and Phichit got back to Phichit’s family apartment, but that wasn’t stopping Phichit from getting all the gossip - even while his parent’s huddled and fussed over his new roommate.

“I still can’t believe you made him cry.”

Yuuri glared at his best friend out of the corner of his eye while Phichit’s mother swallowed him in a hug, glad that Phichit’s parents didn’t understand fluent English. At least, he was pretty sure they didn’t.

“I didn’t exactly mean too, Phichit. _Ah_ -” he blinked as Phichit’s mother suddenly stepped back, beaming at him with her sparkling brown eyes aglow. Instinctively, he tipped at the waist in a polite bow. “Thank you for having me, Mrs Chulanont!”

He instantly regretted it. Moving shifted the hoodie tied around his waist and the shirt stuck to his back with sweat snagged grossly to his skin, clinging to him uncomfortably. He was already too hot. He’d been sweating from the moment he’d stepped off the plane, the humidity slamming into him in a way he was unprepared for after the wintery chill he’d left behind in Hasetsu. There was absolutely no chill in Bangkok. He didn’t quite know how Phichit could possibly be comfortable in those tight ripped blue jeans of his, but he certainly didn’t look anywhere near as gross as Yuuri felt.

At least the house had air conditioning, Yuuri took as a mild consolation - he wasn’t sure how he would have coped without it honestly! He wanted a shower more than he could remember wanting anything in his life.

To the side, Phichit scoffed a laugh. “You’re not in Japan anymore, Yuuri.”

His hand barely hid his amused grin and Yuuri scowled instinctively in response, a warmth that had nothing to do with the Thai weather suddenly slamming into his cheeks.

Phichit’s father stepped in before Yuuri could say something back though, quickly straightening his spine to meet the hand offered out to him. The handshake was strong and firm, the smile on the older man’s face softening its briefness and the only slightly intimidating squeeze at the end that reminded Yuuri just who was boss in the house. Yuuri smiled politely, thanking him in Japanese.

His cheeks were still pink when he was finally released, catching Phichit’s far from subtle giggle out of the corner of his eye.

Yes, he wasn’t in Japan anymore, but he was being polite in the only way he knew how. He probably should have asked Phichit was might be considered polite in Thai culture but in all the whirlwind of travelling, and getting everything together, and the way Victor’s eyes had glittered at him when he’d said goodbye-

Yuuri’s breath hitched subtly, heart plummeting like a stone in water. He felt his eyes widen a fraction. Why did he have to think of Victor now?

But Yuuri did. He thought of those brilliant blue eyes and the delicate flutter of silver bangs over his left cheekbone, the flawless alabaster skin and that stunning smile saved in Yuuri’s phone that could move mountains. The softness of his fingertips and the firm press of his lips, the way he glided over the ice like he was born for it...

A murmur of Thai distracted him.

He blinked up just in time to catch Phichit quip something back to his mother with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, earning a laugh from Mrs Chulanont. Her own sparkling gaze - matching Phichit’s to a tee - lingered on Yuuri.

Yuuri turned his frown to Phichit. “What did she say?”

Self consciousness washed through his system and Yuuri fought the urge to fidget. Moving in general should be kept to a minimum until he’d had a cool, thorough shower.

“She thinks you’re really sweet.” Phichit said.

_Okay, that wasn’t so bad._

“And what did you say?”

“That you’re just a ruthless heartbreaker really and left your Russian boyfriend back in Japan _crying_ in a cupboard-”

“Phichit!”

Yuuri couldn’t crawl away fast enough after that, face flaming with embarrassment even though the Chulanont’s seemed to find it nothing but amusing. He guessed Phichit had to get his harmless love of drama from somewhere. Still, he didn’t exactly like it being at his expense - especially when he had only just met them and had to live under the same roof as them for… well, he wasn’t sure how long yet - but it was long enough to want to make a good impression!

He breathed a sigh of relief when Phichit finally excused them upstairs, taking Yuuri’s suitcase for him and leading the way up the staircase.

“Sorry about Malee, by the way.” the Thai boy waved at a closed door on their way up to his room. _Malee -_ Phichit’s sister, Yuuri remembered. “She’s got a big exam next week and has literally locked herself in her room to study. Don’t take it personally.”

Yuuri didn’t, following Phichit further up the stairs without question. The Chulanont house had three floors and Phichit’s was right at the top, Phichit trotting up the last few steps like the suitcase he carried weighed nothing. Yuuri eyed him enviously from behind, feeling the strength sapped from him from the long flight and ungodly humidity outside. The backpack slung over his shoulder felt like a sack of rocks, his every step lugging. He used the banister to haul himself up the last few steps after Phichit, glad there wasn’t a door to push open at the end of it; Yuuri wasn’t sure he had the strength.

He quickly realised why there was no door though. Phichit’s room wasn’t _on_ the third floor - it _was_ the third floor.

The ceiling sloped ever so slightly under the angle of the roof above and a large square window leaned over one of the single beds, raining down sunshine over the sheets. The other bed - Yuuri’s bed - was across the other side of the room. There were the usual other bedroom stuff; a desk, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, the King and the Skater poster spanning the length of the wall … then there were the not-so-usual things. Like the mannequin sporting Phichit’s leather jacket and shades in the corner. And the doll-house adapted hamster cage against the back wall, ladders running from the different levels and a panel of glass sealing it safe across the front.

Yuuri blinked at the grey fluffy, chubby cheek pressed up against the glass as he dragged himself up that last step, exhausted smile snagging at his lips. Bennie, if he remember right.

“Have you brought any posters this time?”

Phichit turned on his heel in the middle of the room after parking Yuuri’s case by the banister, his dark bangs swinging over his eyes.

Yuuri slipped his backpack off his shoulder. “I had posters?”

A sharp bark of laughter answered him first.

“So, so many!” Phichit chuckled with sparkling eyes rolling to the ceiling, palms splaying dramatically out to the walls. “Literally, wall-to-wall posters of Victor Nikiforov - our dorm room was more Victor than wall!”

The backpack thudded softly as Yuuri set it down on the bed across from the window, unwinding his hoodie from around his waist and plucking his sweat stuck shirt away from his body. He needed to change. Badly. He needed to _shower_. He dug out a spare shirt he’d packed from his backpack and punched his hoodie in in exchange.

It got out a little of the frustration burning at his cheeks, biting back a groan. The worst bit - he believed Phichit. His obsessive, teenage self owning every ounce of merch of a devastatingly handsome Russian skater and plastering his face all over his walls… yeah, that sounded like Yuuri. Exactly like Yuuri. Heat warmed all the way up to the tips of his ears and he pressed his lips together in as menacing a scowl over his shoulder as he could muster to shut down that _ridiculous_ grin spread on Phichit’s face.

It didn’t work.

Phichit scoffed half a second before he fell back on the bed howling with laughter, an arm wrapped around his middle. Yuuri grimaced bitterly. He fumbled with his backpack a little more aggressively than before, cheeks hot.

“How do you not remember that?” Phichit suddenly propped up on his elbows, wiping tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes. “That was ages ago! Way before you-”

He caught himself just in time, a choked noise in his throat cutting him off.

They both froze in the same moment.

Fingers curled in the clothes in Yuuri’s hand and once narrowed eyes suddenly blinked wide, heartbeat hammering wildly out of control in his chest all of a sudden. Pins and needles pricked at his fingertips, goosebumps rippling over his skin. The beat of the heart monitor machine drummed distantly in the back of his skull. Yuuri cursed breathlessly in Japanese.

They both knew how that sentence ended, neither of them sure how to phrase it nicely. Was there a nice way to say ‘ _before you smashed your skull on the ice like a total amateur_ ’?

Finally, Phichit swallowed stiffly. “-before the final.”

The playful edge to his tone had dried up, tension settling heavy over the room. Yuuri ducked his eyes low. He wasn’t exactly sure how to answer, even if his brain was able to work past remembering how to suck oxygen into his lungs and hiss it back out again.

The buzz of his phone in his pocket distracted him. Yuuri couldn’t pull it out fast enough. He needed something else to focus on - anything else! Anything that would drown out the sounds ghosting through his ears and make him forget the tightness closing around his chest. When he saw the name flashing on the screen though, he quickly changed his mind.

“Everything okay?”

Yuuri’s stomach twisted guiltily. “It’s Victor.”

Phichit sat bolt upright, eyes round and eager for gossip. “Really?” he crossed his legs underneath him, getting comfortable. “What does he say?”

Teeth snagged Yuuri’s lower lip as he thumbed open the message, his heart in his mouth. Was it normal to text your ex-fiancee less than eight hours after you broke up? He guessed Victor wasn’t one to play by the rules of the rest of the world though, locked in his own blissful little bubble.

_Victor: Land okay?_

That was it.

No emojis, or smileys, or… anything. It was blunt, to the point - and damn near scary coming from Victor. It wasn’t him. Victor was three hearts on the end of his message minimum, a gif of a puppy, and a smiley face with a heart shaped mouth. On a simple day.

Yuuri couldn’t deny the way his heart sank, tossing the phone to Phichit before he slumped down on his bed too, suddenly feeling boneless.

There was a silent moment as Phichit read.

“Wow…” he finally said, something tense in his voice. A confused frown furrowed his brow over the phone, grey eyes flickering up to Yuuri. “Long distancing is going to suck if this is what he’s like after half a day apart.”

Air sucked shakily through Yuuri’s lungs, blinking up at the ceiling with blurring eyes. “We’re not long distancing.” he finally breathed, an inexplicable weight settle on his chest. “I… I think it’s over.”

“Think?”

Yuuri fluttered his eyes shut, teeth snagging his lower lip. He couldn’t say this to the ceiling. His body felt like it was made of lead as he dragged himself upright again, meeting Phichit’s round-eyed gaze across the room with his own guilt-torn one. “I ... kind of gave him the ring back.”

His left hand smoothed instinctively over his right, over his ring finger - the skin was smooth and cold, despite the heat that had sweated through the rest of his body. No ring. It jolted him back to the present quickly. There was no ring to spin around his finger anymore, no trinket to toy with and take his mind off the sensations quickly choking his body. His breaths came just that little bit quicker.

Across the room, Phichit’s mouth fell open. “You what?!”

Colour splashed over Yuuri’s cheeks and he locked his fingers together in the absence of a ring to play with. “I mean, I tried to, at least.” His eyes fell to his knees. “I didn’t realise I’d bought them.”

There was a stiff moment of silence.

“Oh, Yuuri…”

Yuuri’s fingers clenched tighter; Phichit sounded as miserable as Yuuri felt.

He couldn’t get Victor’s face out of his head, even when there was two and half thousand miles of land and sea between them. The bright, glittering blue of his eyes like a freshly cut diamond, Yuuri able to see every crack of heartbroken sea-green when Victor had tipped his gold ring into Yuuri’s open palm.  It had been too much for him at the time, throwing himself into Victor’s arms over the barrier in a tight hug just to save himself having to keep looking at the Russian’s expression. The rest of his face had been calm, peaceful. Only his eyes had betrayed him.

Yuuri could still feel the warmth of Victor’s arms around him, clenching tight like he never wanted to let go. It had been Yuuri that had pulled away first. He’d turned on his heel with a whisper of _‘goodbye’_ , not daring to look back. He hadn’t been sure he’d really be able to leave if he had.

A shout and a brutal thud had followed him down the corridor.

“What’s he going to do then?”

Yuuri swallowed at the memory, mouth running dry. “He’s going back to Russia.” he said dully, like reading from a script. It was a question he had prepared for. “Back under Yakov.”

In a week. In a week, there would be nothing left of Victor Nikiforov in Hasetsu and Yuuri wouldn’t see him outside competitions. That was how it was supposed to be with someone like him and someone like Victor. That was how reality worked. It didn’t mean that it didn’t sting a little when Yuuri thought about it though, knowing that breathtaking smile was so far away and would be going even further.

“ _Under_ Yakov?” Phichit leaned heavily on the word, voice lifting a fraction in pitch. “You mean he’s going to skate again?”

Yuuri’s shoulders hitched noncommittally. “I guess so.”

Victor had been skating new material every time Yuuri had seen him at the Ice Castle the last month or so - not that he’d stalked all his previous routines to know it was new. No, that would be… accurate. So, so accurate. He wanted to feel embarrassed at the fact, but actually all he felt was hollow.

For people who knew of Victor Nikiforov before, Yuuri guessed that him coming back to skating was a bigger deal for them than it was for him. They knew what a legend he was. Yuuri had only seen videos, read Wikipedia profiles. Sure, it was good to see - but Yuuri knew it would be even more magical in person, to see Victor skate like a dream on the ice right there within touching distance…

“Are you … happy?” Phichit’s question sounded a million miles away to his ears and Yuuri bobbed his head on instinct. “I mean… don’t take this the wrong way, but you were different with him. You seemed happier than before.”

 _Happier…_ a humourless smile tweaked at Yuuri’s lips. The heart monitor machine bleeped in his ears again, Victor’s wild scream calling out to him from across his scattered memories. That was all he could remember of Yuuri Katsuki with Victor Nikiforov in his life; pain, and ruin, and heartbreak. Yeah, things were so much better back then for him...

Yuuri didn’t answer.

It wasn’t just for him though. It was for Victor. He would stop holding him up in Hasetsu and give him back to the world, back to the ice on which he belonged. Victor could skate again. He could do what he wanted. He didn’t suit being in a small, seaside town in Japan. That was what Yuuri knew.

And he needed it. He needed the ice time, the time away from Yuuri. Their goodbye had made it blindingly obvious to Yuuri, literally right in front of his face what would happen if he stayed as a distraction: a graze. A small red graze marring the top of Victor’s cheek. Yuuri wasn’t sure when it had happened or how, but he knew exactly what it was the moment he’d set eyes on it.

Ice burn.

The kind you got from falling.

Yuuri didn’t really want to think about it. Guilt churned sickeningly in his stomach and the tip of his finger swirled around the base of his right ring finger subconsciously. He blinked back the wetness building in his eyes.

He’d hurt Victor just by being there. By taking him off the ice so much that Victor _fell_ when he got back on it. He couldn’t do that anymore - not if he felt even a shred of care for Victor.

And he felt more than a shred.

It only made him more determined though, more sure that he was doing the right thing by taking himself away. Without Yuuri to distract him, Victor could skate again. Properly. Gracefully. Beautifully. Like he used to. With no more falls and no more ice-burns. He could get his life back before Yuuri dragged him off the ice, out of the spotlight.

And if he couldn’t, then Yuuri would do it for him.

Yuuri closed his eyes and fell back against the bed, bouncing softly as he hit the mattress. He could do it, he told himself. He would win the Grand Prix final for Victor to get that smile back. He had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep tabs on works @ https://justrae2010.tumblr.com/
> 
> Please drop a comment before you go !
> 
> I promise this story has a happy ending eventually!


	9. Chapter 9

Two months passed smoothly and Yuuri surrendered to his new routine. Skating. Dancing. Eating. Sleeping. Physio. Gym. Resting. Phichit was right there every step of the way. It was like being back in Detroit, like nothing had ever changed.

 

* * *

 

**v-nikiforov** added 2 new photos.

[image][image]

We woke up like this ^_~ Isn’t @gabriel_luv just the cutest \^o^/ #bfgoals <3 <3

Liked by  **christophe-gc** and 4,232 others

12 minutes ago

 

* * *

 

After four months, Yuuri woke up screaming.

The distant crack of his skull hitting the ice and Victor’s bright blue eyes - laced with absolute terror - flashed in his mind even when he bolted upright in bed, the room around him pitch black. Cold sweat stuck to the back of his neck. Air rasped through his lungs in short, sharp bursts and his hands trembled against his thighs.

“Yuuri!” A cold hand pressed against his shoulder. “Yuuri, it’s okay. Look at me! It’s going to be okay.” 

_ Phichit,  _ Yuuri vaguely recognised. He couldn’t see him though; all he could see was ice and the flash of red that danced over it.

Coming to Thailand was supposed to stop all that. Running away from Victor was supposed to stop all that. Everything had been fine for the first few months, so why now? Why was everything falling apart all over again? He shuddered helplessly in Phichit’s arms until the gasps settled into steady whimpers, but it wasn’t his best friend’s face he saw, wasn’t his voice he heard. 

It was Victor’s.

 

* * *

 

**v-nikiforov** added 1 new photo.

[image]

When the bf gets the seal of approval   \\#^w^#/  @dimi+petrov #makkasaysyes # милый #doggiekisses

 

Liked by **seung-gillee, bbe4_viktor** and 2,264 others

47 minutes ago

 

* * *

 

The seatbelt sign switched off overhead of Yuuri’s seat on the plane and he pulled his hoodie up over his tangled mess of dark bedhead hair, drawing his knees up to his chest. His iPhone braced against his thigh, stilled video already on the screen.

He pressed play.

Celestino shifted in the seat beside him, glancing over. “Yuuri…” he sighed. “You don't need to watch that.”

_ Yes, I do _ , Yuuri answered in his head, hoping the shadow of his hoodie hid the crimson blush firing up his cheeks. His eyes didn’t leave the screen for a second; Victor Nikiforov skated flawlessly over the ice in his Skate America short programme, body languid and fluid with emotion bleeding through his tender expression enough to get the blood pounding embarrassingly loudly in Yuuri’s ears. He couldn’t help it. It was Victor.

He watched in silence, his earphones idiotically forgotten back at Phichit’s place rather than stuffed in his pocket like he’d thought they were. He wondered what Victor’s music was like, what melody wrapped around each graceful gesture Victor painted for his performance.

The video looped over and over again during the long flight to Canada, and Yuuri didn’t regret a second of it.

 

* * *

 

**v-nikiforov** added 2 new photos.

[image][image]

Sneak peak of this seasons sp to @davide69_xoxo for our one month anniversary \\##^o^##/ can’t wait to show it to you all too!  <3 <3 <3

Liked by **christophe-gc, datskatetho** and 3,524 others

23 minutes ago

 

* * *

 

Russian Yuri leaned ever so slightly backwards over the edge of the rink from the ice, phone in hand and long blonde bangs tied back from his face. “Did you see that loser skate in America?”

His cheekbones looked a little sharper than Yuuri remembered them, bright green eyes regarding him from much higher up and the arm braced backwards against the boards slightly thicker with muscle than the last time Yuuri had seen it six months ago. The back of his blonde hair stuck sweatily to the nape of his neck but if it bothered him, he didn’t show it.

And by ‘loser’, Yuuri assumed he meant Victor.

From the benchside, Yuuri caught the Instagram picture glaring out over Yurio’s shoulder; Victor in his dishevelled - yet strangely stylish - short programme outfit, standing proudly at the top of the podium. A plastic smile plastered over his face.

Yuuri tried to ignore the way his heart dropped into his stomach. The traitorous blush spreading over his cheeks surely gave his answer for him.

“No,” he lied anyway. “I missed it.”

His eyes ducked back down to his bouncing knees and fingers clenched tighter around his phone, swallowing the hard lump stuck in his throat. He and Victor were supposed to be over, after all - and Victor certainly hadn’t wasted any time moving on, flaunting his new string of boyfriends from the moment his plane hit the Russian tarmac. Victor was obviously doing fine. Yuuri doubted Victor had watched Yuuri’s short programme from yesterday’s competition with the same addiction that Yuuri had watched his. If he had watched it at all. He probably hated Yuuri after the way Yuuri made him cry.

The thought stung more than it should have.

He felt more than saw the look Yurio shot out of the corner of his eye, the heat of it searing against his cheek. Was Yurio going to yell at him again? Like back in Sochi.

For a moment, Yuuri held his breath, waiting. Nobody would know, after all. Behind Yurio, the rink was empty. Celestino had stepped outside on a call to his fellow coach Satsuki with Phichit in Thailand, and Lila … just wasn’t there. The other skaters had gone too, all getting in some last minute rest before the free skate of their Skate Canada competition tomorrow. Yurio and Yuuri were the only ones still working, still pushing themselves. That was why they were at the top of the scoreboard, Yurio leading by a fraction of a point.

“All he does is whine about you.” Yurio tsk-ed on after a beat, mercifully rolling his gaze back to his phone. “He’s become as insufferable as Georgi - only Victor actually manages to do well with it!”

_ Don’t listen,  _ Yuuri told himself, trying to focus on the beat of the blood drumming through his ears instead.  _ Don’t listen, don’t listen, don’t listen, don’t- _

Victor was talking about him?

Yuuri’s flush burned beetroot down the back of his neck, heartbeat notching up so loudly in his chest he was almost surprised Yurio couldn’t hear it thudding from the ice. If Victor was talking about him, then Victor must be thinking about him. And if Victor was thinking about him, then maybe Victor was-

“-so annoying.”

Yuuri choked on air..

He masked it with an unconvincing cough. 

A burning glare blazed in his direction and Yuuri’s gaze dodged away just in time to avoid it, leg bouncing so fast now that the muscles around his thigh were starting to ache. That was bad. The free skate was just tomorrow…

“I thought he had a boyfriend?” 

It was barely more than a mumble. Yuuri ducked his head down, overgrown hair falling over his eyes. He wasn’t even sure what made him ask; it was none of his business. 

His gaze hovered between his knees, noticing the uneven lengths of the laces on his skates. Teeth snagged his lower lip. He bowed over and threaded his fingers through the laces, tugging them loose and savouring the drag of the rough material against his skin as a welcome distraction from the hot blush blooming over his cheeks. His hands trembled slightly, the tips of his fingers tingling numb. 

“He’s only with that idiot to try and get over you,” Yurio said, every new syllable stinging at Yuuri like a lash. “If you’d seen his short programme, you’d know that.”

“What?”

Yuuri blinked up before he could help it, caught off guard. Because he  _ had  _ seen Victor’s short programme - despite what he’d told Yurio - and he still didn’t understand. He’d watched Victor skate perfectly; had memorised every swing of his loose blue tie and every flourish of his open suit jacket; had drilled in every spin and jump; had been haunted by the too-perfect shine that glittered in his eyes when he’d received his soaring score…

But Yuuri didn’t have any idea what any of it had to do with him. He’d thought Victor was skating his love for his new Dolce & Gabana model boyfriend. 

“It’s so stupid.” Yurio’s eyes rolled to the ceiling. “I don’t suppose you remember the Sochi banquet, do you? You didn’t remember it even before you bit the ice.”

Yuuri froze. 

The breath hitched subtly in his throat and something sharp speared through his chest, winding him unexpectedly. His mouth ran dry. The next breath he sucked in sounded louder than all the others, oxygen laced with barbed wire catching in his throat. He felt it distantly - like his mind was floating just half a head higher than his body. Something else demanded his attention though, something worse; the bleeping was back. 

And a wild, Russian tinted scream.

On the outside though, the corner of Yuuri’s eye just twitched. “No.”

“That was where he met you.”

Reality slammed back into Yuuri with the force of a freight train and the world span a little as he settled back into his own head. Curious green eyes watched him over the boards, an eyebrow crooked.

Yuuri’s tongue darted out to wet his dry lips, clearing his throat. Then he remembered exactly just what Yurio had said and blinked at him dumbly. “I…”

It was harder to speak than he remembered.

“Yeah, you were all over him.” Yurio went on without skipping a beat, twisting round on the ice to face Yuuri and brace his forearms against the boards. “Drunk off your ass. Dragged everyone off to dance and strip, and just…  _ ugh. _ ” A shudder jolted through him, face scrunching. “Anyway, that’s what he’s skating. The night you first danced with him.”

It still took two more repetitions in Yuuri’s head before the words actually started to sink in. When they did, all he could manage was – “Oh.”

The pounding in the back of his head was back. 

Yuuri tried to focus on the rhythmic beat of the blood pulsing through his skull, but it didn’t do much to help him focus. The words still danced in his head;  _ there _ , but not quite linking together into rational sentences.

Because it sounded like Victor was skating his short programme for him. From the night they’d met. The night they’d fallen in love?

And that was definitely not rational.

“I just…” Yuuri’s head shook numbly, searching for the words. There were no words – none that didn’t get stuck in his throat anyway. “I didn’t think-”

“Is that what I think it is?”

Yuuri visibly shrank under Yurio’s sharpened tone - morphed from crisp to  _ ice cold - _ and flickering his gaze up to the teen leaned over the boards, jolting at the glare that met him. He wasn’t used to people looking at him like that. Narrowed green eyes honed in on his chest. Yuuri followed down to his shirt, eyebrows pinching with confusion and -

He flushed scarlet.

A thin chain hung out from the neck of his shirt, two gold rings looped through and glinting in the bright lights of the rink. Two unmistakable rings. 

Fumbling fingers stashed them back into his shirt, but it was too late. Yurio had seen. Yurio knew what they were. The way his jaw hung open for a stunned moment gave it away, anger flaring red hot in dangerous emerald eyes. Yuuri didn’t have the nerve to meet them for longer than half a second, knowing he deserved every sting of shame that burned through him. It was like Yurio could see right through him. 

An uncomfortable silence stretched out, and Yuuri counted the seconds. Even the voice in his head was barely louder than a squeak.

“Haven’t you messed with him enough yet?” Yurio’s voice trembled with rage.

Yuuri flinched. His fists were white knuckled against his thighs, a shaky breath passing through his lips. “I-I haven’t-” he pressed his eyes shut against the hot, watery prick stinging behind them. “I didn’t mean-”

“You kissed him and ran off!” Yurio half yelled. “What else could you damn well mean?”

Yuuri winced, swallowing hard.

Because Yurio was right. Exactly right. He’d just never thought of it that way.

He didn’t mean to mess up. He didn’t mean to think that travelling halfway across the word would cure the nightmares and help him move on from his out-of-his-league ex-fiancee. It certainly wasn’t working. He didn’t mean to hurt Victor - because that was obviously what Yurio was implying, that he thought Yuuri was  _ messing  _ with the other Russian’s heart on purpose. No, he hadn’t meant to. There was so much he hadn’t meant to do. 

The rings were cold against Yuuri’s collarbone under his shirt, the closest thing he could get to having Victor with him.

But Victor was not with him. He hadn’t been for six months now and Yuuri felt the separation like someone was pressing a pillow over his face, suffocating him just a little bit more every day. Victor was in New York - or worse, back in St Petersburg by now, with Davide’s big arms and strong, chiselled jawline. Yuuri couldn’t compete with that. Not a chance.

What he could do though was skate, and hope that whatever Victor had seen in him that wild date night on the Ice Castle rink - the one that had brought the stars shining in Victor’s eyes - was still there. 

 

His lips tweaked in a small smile, nothing remotely amusing about the gesture though. “He told you about that?”

To Victor, Yuuri guessed he really had just kissed him and ran off - he’d made his mind up about leaving the same night even, even if he hadn’t bothered to tell Victor for a good few weeks after! No wonder Yurio was mad. Was Victor mad too? He hadn’t called, hadn’t text…

Yuuri’s tight fists slacked just enough for his fingers to fold together, clenching until he felt something in his joints click.  _ I’m not good enough for him, _ he wanted to explain to Yurio. That was why he’d ran. Victor was Victor; beautiful, and perfect, and a gold medal slung around his neck from his first competition since a year out of competitive skating. While Yuuri had had two years of failures at the Grand Prix final, at what was supposed to be the height of his career. It just didn’t work. Even if Victor had feelings for him, they were too far apart in too many ways - worlds apart. Yuuri didn’t deserve someone like Victor. He just wasn’t good enough.

Not that he could tell any of it to Yurio. Those piercing emerald eyes weren’t interested in excuses, just answers; justice for his hurt friend. Yuuri wasn’t sure he could any of it out loud anyway.

Yurio’s sigh was softer than Yuuri expected, folding his arms out of the corner of his eye. “He doesn’t exactly have many people to run and cry to. Believe me,” the teen grumbled. “I wish I was further down the shortlist.”

It wasn’t what Yuuri expected to hear - it was worse. A dull strike stabbed through his chest and his eyes fluttered shut, biting back a groan.

He didn’t want to hear any more. 

His fingers were stiff as he uncurled his fists and bowed over, tugging off his boots clumsily and reaching under the bench for his trainers. He needed to go. Blood pounded in his ears and he blinked fast, not trusting the hot prick at the back of his eyes and the blur of his fingers beneath him. Were they trembling? He wasn’t sure.

Where was Celestino? That call must have ended by now. Yuuri dug his heels into his trainers and tucked the length of his laces into the sides, shoving his skates into his bag and jumping to his feet. Snatching his phone up, he turned, footsteps impossibly loud in his ears.

“Just because you flubbed his move doesn’t give you the right to be such a jerk!” Yurio called after him. “It wasn’t his fault...”

Yuuri’s next step froze. 

_ Just go _ , he told himself. His heart was hammering in his chest and he knew that whatever else he might hear he would regret hearing, but his body wasn’t listening to him. Yurio’s words rolled over and over in his head, making less and less sense every time they did. His brow furrowed, thoroughly confused. 

He knew he shouldn’t ask but he did anyway, head tilting ever so slightly to the side. A flash of yellow caught out of the corner of his eye. “His move?”

Yurio tsk-ed again.

“The quad flip. His signature,” he said, voice dripping with contempt. Yuuri didn’t blame him; he didn’t like himself much either in that moment. “The one you choked in Barcelona.”

_...bleep…bleep...bleep... _

Yuuri’s eyes shot wide. The soles of his trainers slapped against the polished floor of the rink and Yurio’s shout was a bur in his ear behind him, breaths ragged and sharp in his lungs. He didn’t know where he was going. Fingers numbed around the strap of his bag and it pinched his shoulder as it slid off, thumping as it fell somewhere in the corridor. In that moment, he didn’t care. He just ran, fleeing from the blinding flash of bloodied ice reeling behind his eyes.

 

* * *

 

The earphones clicked into the port at the base of Yuuri’s iPhone and music flooded his senses, heart skipping a beat at the sensual flow of the piano. On the screen, Victor moved as fluid as water, graceful right down to his fingertips. It made Yuuri’s breath catch as every stroke glided in time with the music, this time laced with context.

This was for him.

Suddenly, he saw every move in a different light. It wasn’t just Victor dancing on the ice - he was dancing  _ with  _ someone. Only that someone wasn’t there.

Still, Victor’s body danced unmistakably. Hands glided over his invisible partner, lifting high as they span under his arm and Victor turning gracefully as he chased his muse like a man mindless with longing, lost in love. Yuuri could practically see the non-existent body moving in tandem with the Russian, exactly where the partner would fit in. Where  _ he  _ fit in.

He sat on the floor of his hotel room, back pressed up against the side of his bed and knees drawn up to his chest. Dried sweat still clung to his neck from running, a few strands of hair still wet against his skin.

_ “Do you know what you’ve started? _

_ I just came here to party _

_ And now we’re rocking on the dance floor acting naughty.” _

Yuuri’s teeth sank into his lower lip, words rolling over him like an ocean wave crashing over the sandy shore. It took him half a beat to realise that he hadn’t actually heard them from the video - just in his head.

He could imagine it though; him and Victor dancing hand in hand, chest to chest as he knew the song went, Yuuri stumbling slightly and Victor’s clothes askew in their drunkenness. Was the suit in his routine the one he wore for the banquet he was dancing about? Yuuri wouldn’t be surprised. Victor would probably get a thrill from the authenticity.

His head rolled back, silver bangs whipping around him and glinting gloriously in the light of the stadium. Arms crossed passionately over his chest, drawing his imaginary partner in.

Yuuri’s breath caught, shivers running down the backs of his shoulders where Victor’s fingertips would be ghosting. His heart was hammering against his ribcage as the tune built, Victor gathering speed on the ice. 

“ _ I want to take you away...” _

A quad flip wrapped through the air as the hauntingly seductive words echoed through his earphones. Flawless. The crowd went wild.

Yuuri was so wrapped up in the beautiful skating that it took a second moment to realise the words oozing through his earphones hadn’t been in English as he’d expected. The Japanese translated so easily in his head that he hadn’t noticed. Japanese. His language. Him. 

It was so obvious now. So blindingly obvious. Yuuri cursed himself for not fully listening before, wondering what he would have done if he had known this sooner. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do now. Would anybody else make the connection or did Yurio just know because he trained with Victor and Victor had a big mouth? Yuuri’s cheeks flushed at the idea that everyone might understand where he hadn’t. That everyone had watched his own short programme yesterday thinking that he was the man Victor Nikiforov was skating his love for.

Everything he thought he knew about Victor was suddenly thrown sharply into question. If Victor was skating for him, then who were those guys on Instagram? Why hadn’t he called? Did he still want something for him and Yuuri, calling out to him through the language they both understood better than anything?

Yuuri’s mind was so warped with rushing thoughts that the rest of the routine went by in a blur, pulse pounding in time with the crescendo of the music like it was reaching out to Victor the way he was reaching out to him. A breathless smile curved over his lips, phone shuddering slightly in his grasp. Victor didn’t hate him - even after Yuuri had dumped him to travel halfway across the world! He could cry with relief. In fact, he did; the corners of his eyes dabbled with moisture and Yuuri sniffed quietly, phone dropping to rest on his thigh.

What was he going to do? If Yurio was right then… then maybe Victor still loved him, even after all this time, after all this mess. Yuuri’s head tipped back against the edge of the mattress, eyes rolling to the ceiling. That was good, right?

The heavy pound of drums cut him off before he could come to a conclusion. The hard thud of his heart went unacknowledged.  

Yuuri glanced down in surprise at the abrupt beat leaking from his ear phones;  _ one, two, three, four _ \- four drum beats, all in quick succession while Victor’s body shuddered in the middle of the ice rink on screen, in perfect time with the music, gracefully jolting like each beat shot right through him. Then he stilled, head lolled forward in the silence.

A ghostly voice echoed: “ _ Take what you want, take what you want and go...” _

More drums, more jolting. Victor’s left shoulder popped, then his right, then his whole body slumped forward and his head threw back suddenly, silver bangs flying back. His eyes scrunched shut, face drawn like he was in pain.

His clothes were dark. Black pants and a long sleeved black shirt adorning his lithe body, the tiniest hint of glitter sparkling in the light. The shirt hung off him in deliberate rags, torn and shredded around his chest and arms like he’d ripped it apart with his bare hands. There was something primal about it, something so raw that made Yuuri wonder if that was really exactly what he’d done. Victor looked like a glorious mess.

What was he watching? Yuuri didn’t recognise it - the routine, the music, the clothes - and he’d watched enough of Victor’s old competitions to know it wasn’t one of them. It couldn’t be. He would have seen it by now...

Yuuri’s eyes glanced up to the video caption, heart stilling at what he read: ‘ _ Victor NIKIFOROV Free Skate - Skate America 2016’ _ . The date on the video was from less than a week ago.

This was new. 

It was what came next in Victor’s story, what came after the banquet. Yuuri’s heart was in his mouth, drum beats faster in his ear. This didn’t sound like the same romantic, seductive tone as his short programme. It sounded… angry. Very angry. Yuuri swallowed hard as the music smoothed out and Victor moved, skates gliding gloriously over the ice with his low eyes.

It was solid. His body looked like it was made out of ice itself, so strong and cold, every motion steady and deliberate as he travelled the rink. It was perfect. Too perfect. Yuuri could feel it; something was wrong, something was waiting to spring forth out of the calmness. Like when someone said they were fine, when they clearly weren’t fine, biting back the fury with a hardened gaze and tense jaw. That was Victor, Yuuri realised. 

For a moment, he wondered if he had the right video. This couldn’t follow the banquet. It couldn’t. This couldn’t be what Victor was feeling after skating about falling in love with Yuuri in his short programme… could it?

Then Victor twisted - arms lashing out and hair whipping through the air with deadly precision - and Yuuri knew it could.

_ “ _ _ Can you hear me? I'm tryna hear you _

_ Silence strikes like a hurricane _

_ I'm singing for you, you're screaming at me _

_ It's hard to see your tears in the pouring rain...” _

It was what Victor had been practising at the Ice Castle the day Yuuri had left.

Yuuri recognised the reckless jumps, the wild slash of his arms through the air, like he was pushing the world away and tearing down the rest of the universe from around him. It had looked so crazed back at the Ice Castle, Yuuri had thought it was just a very, very,  _ very  _ rough draft that Victor had intended to straighten out later. 

There was no straighter. It was just as raw and brutal as the day Yuuri had first laid eyes on it, Victor’s body broken yet determined at the same time. There was nothing refined about it. It was pure emotion, splayed out for all the world to see in its messy reality.

“ _ Take what you want _

_ Take what you want and go.” _

Yuuri forgot how to breathe, mind racing. This was for him too, he was sure, but … but  _ how _ ? Less than a minute ago, he’d been watching Victor seduce him on the ice the way he’d once been seduced on the dance floor.

It wasn’t what he was expecting. Exactly the opposite. Victor wasn’t calling Yuuri, he was bidding him to go. Screaming at him...

There was something about the routine itself that nagged Yuuri though, something that he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t until the first half of the routine was nearly over that Yuuri noticed what it was - Victor had done barely any jumps. Yuuri had analysed his routines. His jumps were always in the first half of his free skate to keep up with his stamina, normally at least two or three of his quads before the halfway mark.

So far, he’d only done one quad Salchow and a handful of triples - and he was already into the second half of his routine! It wasn’t Victor’s normal skating style at all.

_ “Still remember a time when you felt like home _

_ You and me up against the great unknown.” _

Victor’s face angled towards the camera and Yuuri felt his heart crack in his chest at the cascade of broken emotion there. The Russian glided back smoothly over the ice, body folding in on itself.

“ _ You were my life- _ ”

Arms crossed vulnerably over his chest.

_ “-now you're out of my life-” _

And lashed back out again, Victor spinning to drive away whatever he was seeing around him. When his eyes next met the camera, there was a hardened edge to them.

“ _ Yeah, I guess that's life.” _

Victor’s skates picked up a rhythm, crossing over and twisting edges, kicking out with every razor sharp turn on the ice. Arms swirled gracefully around him in a mesmerising pattern. It took a second for it to click. And when it did, Yuuri felt his heart drop into his stomach - he recognised that step sequence. 

_ “Take it, no reason for me to hold on _

_ Look in my eyes, I'm letting go.” _

It wasn’t new. It was from three years ago. Yuuri remembered it well, right down to every single twist and turn that he saw Victor now replicating on the ice. Yes, Yuuri knew it - it was  _ his. _

His jaw fell open.

_ “Keep it, don't need it, don't need it, don't need it,” _

Victor build up speed, expression stony.

_ “Take what you want, take what you want and go…” _

The last note screamed out over the ice and Victor threw himself into a spin. Fast… too fast …  _ impossibly  _ fast! Yuuri’s eyes widened as Victor all but blurred on the screen, twisting so quick it was like - no, it really  _ was _ that ridiculously tight spin he had been working on at the Ice Castle, so drawn it was like Victor was going to whip himself right out of reality itself. It was perfect, beautiful. Yuuri nearly whined at the ache it pulled in his chest just watching. Yuuri was known for his spins, but even he couldn’t... _ damn.  _ How did it not  _ hurt  _ Victor _?  _

_ Maybe it did, _ Yuuri thought, raw voice of Victor’s music still calling in his ear. Maybe that was what Victor wanted. The scream was so primal, so  _ begging _ … Victor looked like he was overflowing with emotions on the ice as he flipped out of his spin, arms pushing away from him. Like it was too much for him to bear.

Yuuri had never seen Victor look so out of control before. It was stunning and technically wonderful, but it wasn’t Victor’s normal polished routines. Victor was always so pulled together, in person as well as on the ice. He’d never let Yuuri see him cry. He’d always held onto his control. Except now, he’d thrown that to the wind. Victor was lashing out on the ice and it was both a revelation and the single biggest heartbreak Yuuri had ever seen.

_ “I don't want anything in our broken home _

_ Not the memories or the things we own.” _

Yuuri didn’t know what to think as Victor pushed himself into a quad toe loop - Yuuri’s best quad! It was too much of a coincidence. That Victor would do  _ his  _ step sequence,  _ his _ skating style, the spins  _ he _ was known for, and the jumps  _ he  _ did best with. The whole routine was full of Yuuri, not Victor.

_ “All the memories,” _

Victor still had Yuuri on his mind, was still hurt by him. And the worst hurt always came after the best love. Victor’s romantic short programme was still in the back of Yuuri’s head. A hand reached up and covered his mouth. He felt his fingers tremble. He could hear the contrast in the music, the deep rooted longing and the absolute agony of the sting Yuuri had left in his wake. 

_ “Take what you want _

_ Take what you want and go.” _

He was still calling out to Yuuri though. Subtle, but there, crystal blue eyes shimmering as he passed the camera and - Yuuri scrunched his eyes shut against the rest of the video, not daring to believe Victor might be using his moves to feel close to him like Yuuri was doing with the rings around his neck.

It couldn’t be possible. Yuuri’s heart thudded traitorously and he didn’t dare admit what it meant, what it was hoping for. He had let Victor go for a reason.

And he’d been right. Free of Yuuri, Victor had beaten the odds and won a gold medal in his first competition this season, despite his age, despite his year out. Without Yuuri, he’d turned out beautiful routines. Flawless on the ice. No falls. No burns. He was a legend again. He was back on top of the world, and Yuuri was right to be craning his neck to catch a glimpse because he was so far out of his reach. He’d accepted that. 

_ “Can you hear me?” _

Yuuri had done one thing right by letting Victor go, giving the world its champion back. He was sure of it. If only he knew how to get that champion to smile... 

His hands slid down from his face, eyes hardened with determination. Tonight, he told himself, new resolve swirling in his gut. He would win the Skate Canada free skate tonight, walk out with a gold medal, and give Victor a performance that would make his heart stutter. Maybe then, Yuuri would be brave enough to call him. Maybe then he could apologise. He really had messed up. How did he not see it before?

He plucked the earbud out of his left ear and pushed himself to his feet, crawling back onto the bed. He should probably get some sleep. Just a little, before the competition. Legs crossed beneath him, Yuuri blinked back down to his phone to set an alarm. 

A new video stared up at him from his Recommended Videos feed though, distracting him: ‘ _ Katsuki scary fall GPF’.  _ Suddenly, he didn’t feel tired anymore.

His mouth ran dry and Yuuri wasn’t sure how long he sat there staring at his unmistakable form in the pause of the video, dressed in his Eros costume. His face was calm, wisps of hair flying out of place.  It had been just a normal skate; nothing could have given away what was about to happen. Yuuri’s finger was trembling as it pressed play. He wasn’t sure why he did it.

Five seconds.

Just five seconds into the exotic clap of the Eros music at the end of his programme playing in his right ear and the splash of American commentary, Yuuri took off for the jump that screwed him. He saw it as soon as he left the ice. It was just off. 

But he suddenly  _ remembered  _ it too.

He gasped as the memory of the air whipping around him came back, feeling it run through his hair and catch in his lungs. Adrenalin had been thick in his system. He’d felt untouchable, he remembered, like he was taking off on wings. In the video, he leapt into the air with impressive height - too much height to control and too little focus to be able to save it before gravity got a firm grip. His head turned out of sync with his body. It was too late by then.

He remembered the exact moment he’d realised what was happening but even if he hadn’t, it was easy to see it on his face in the video. Just a flash - right before his frightened expression was whipped off and the pent up speed ran away with him, legs spinning out of control. He didn’t have a chance of landing.

When a blade caught on the ice, it was all over. 

Velocity threw Yuuri’s body down like rag doll, slamming down with an audible smack. He watched the back of his head bounce off the ice, eyes so wide they hurt.

It was a miracle he hadn’t snapped an ankle, he thought, holding his breath along with the rest of the people in the video. There was a shocked silence when the music abruptly stopped. On the screen, Yuuri didn’t move.

_ “YUURI!!!” _

A flash of blue and silver darted across the screen, careering across the ice until Victor skidded down onto his knees beside Yuuri’s still body. 

All the camera caught was Victor’s back bowed low over Yuuri, but he vaguely remembered the rest. He remembered feeling cold hands either side of his face, urgent words barked down to him in a confusing blend of Russian and English. Blurry blue-green eyes had danced in front of him.

Half a minute later, the paramedics were there too. A tiny patch of red stained the ice when they wheeled Yuuri away on a stretcher, getting him quickly off the ice. The camera angle changed to an on-ground shot from behind the barrier of the rink, getting a front row view of Yuuri’s chalk white face as the stretcher passed.

As soon as the stretcher was gone though, the reporters closed in before Victor could follow. 

_ “Victor, what happened?” _

_ “A quadruple flip-” _

_ “How bad is it?” _

Victor shrank a little under the flashing lights and brought up a hand to shield his eyes - it wasn’t enough to hide his dark expression though. Despite the sickly paleness in his face, his sharp blue eyes looked practically murderous, mouth drawn in a tight, thin line. He barked something in Russian that Yuuri didn’t understand. 

Nor did the reporters it seemed, still hounding him relentlessly and blocking his path. Yuuri watched the anger flare in his eyes a second before his temper snapped.

_ “Get out of the way, please! _ ” 

The video swam as Victor batted the camera away and it fell, the video suddenly flipping upside down. Yuuri just about caught the fleeting powder blue trench coat billowing after the stretcher before the video cut to a studio of commentators. 

He stopped the feed with numb fingers.

Even when the screen was blank though, it didn’t end for Yuuri. The siren of the ambulance rang in his ears and he remembered the pressure of Victor’s fingers clutching his tightly. 

His arm dropped back down to the bed and Yuuri fell onto his back, staring wide-eyed up at the ceiling as he bounced lightly on the mattress. He’d been lucky, he thought as a shaky breath left him. Incredibly lucky. Hitting the ice at that kind of force it was a miracle he hadn’t caved his skull in! Suddenly, being a little forgetful didn’t seem so bad. He couldn’t help but think of how his mother must have felt when she’d seen it, watching her baby boy slip away while she was halfway across the world, completely helpless. No wonder she’d been so relieved to hear his voice.

Yuuri’s next breath trembled in his lungs and he jolted as a wetness touched his ears. Jerking upright, he ran a shaky hand over his face - his heart stopped when he saw the tears clinging to his palm.

For a moment, he just stared. He hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t expected that at all. The pearly tear drops glittered up at him innocently from his hand and the breath froze in Yuuri’s chest in surprise. He didn’t move, letting the new memories flood his mind, each one leading into another like a movie reel. It replayed over and over again, Yuuri’s head slamming into the ice with a gut churning crunch each time, getting clearer and louder with every second. Yuuri clamped his hands over his ears to try and drown it out. Suddenly, the world behind his eyes blurred, a mash of colour swirling sickeningly in his head. He scrunched his eyes shut.

The darkness was comforting. Slowly, the blood pounding in his ears dulled and the images rolling through his head stopped. The panicked, terrified gleam in Victor’s eyes remained though.

This was bad. 

Yuuri could feel his hands trembling over his ears, feel the tears still rolling thick and fast over his cheeks.  _ No, no, no -  _  he was supposed to be relaxing for the free skate! Not…  _ this.  _ A choked gasp ripped through his lungs and Yuuri’s shoulders hunched, body folding itself even smaller on the mattress.

Where was Celestino? Yuuri felt the breath hitch in his throat and darkness pinch at the back of his vision, knowing exactly where this was leading. He couldn’t have a panic attack right before his free skate! He just couldn’t. Not this year. He needed to be at his best; mind focused and body ready to win that gold medal for Victor. 

Yuuri remembered with startling clarity the last time he’d panicked like this. In Barcelona, back from the hospital - in Victor’s arms. He cursed under his breath in Japanese. Where had all the oxygen gone from the room?

His hand fumbled on the mattress around him for his phone, fingers barely steady enough to pick it up when they found it. Peeling his eyes open, he couldn’t see a thing. Tears blurred the screen in front of him and Yuuri whimpered helplessly. He needed help. He needed Mari, or Yuuko, or Phichit, or… just  _ someone _ .

He had no idea what his fingers were typing as they tapped over the screen of his phone, but he trusted they knew what they were doing. Anybody worth calling, Yuuri would know how to dial from muscle memory by now.

The phone shook as he held it to his ear, swallowing his salty tears and sucking in deep breaths. It wasn’t too late to pull himself back. Even the rhythm off the dialling tone was helping, timing his breaths one by one with the steady beeps. They cut off almost too quickly, line connecting with a sudden click. Yuuri pressed his lips together, wondering who he’d called.

“ _ Da _ ?”

_ Victor _ . 

The Russian sounded breathless - like he’d been training - gasping ever so slightly down the line, but it was definitely him. Definitely Victor. Yuuri would recognise his voice a mile away.

He yelped in surprise.

The phone jumped in his hand and Yuuri’s thumb jabbed wildly at the ‘end call’ button, heart in his mouth and pounding away with an entirely new kind of panic. No, this was definitely not what he had in mind. Not Victor. Anybody but Victor. A defeated beep told him when he’d hit the right button and he dropped the phone into the sheets, burying his face in his hands. It was still wet with tears. His groan echoed around the hotel room.

Now, it was official. Face flaming hot and cheeks red with shame, Yuuri had absolutely no idea what he was going to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a day later than I intended it to be!
> 
> So Victor's short skate was inspired by [Stephane Lambiel's Don't Stop The Music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s6rw5svR5PA) of course, because it's not at all like everybody else has done exactly the same thing already... xD
> 
> The song for his free skate is [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XjDj-MNHwxE) and I think it's a real gem. Literally cannot stop listening to this song and this band in general.
> 
> Excited to see Yurio and more Victor in the next chapter!
> 
> Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed and please drop me a comment if you did ^w^
> 
> -Rae


	10. Chapter 10

Yuuri swirled the champagne around his tall glass, watching the pale golden bubbles rise to the surface and delicately pop with dull, disinterested eyes. His chin sat heavily in his palm, ignoring the party around him.

Fourth.

He’d finished fourth at Skate Canada.

Never mind a gold - Yuuri hadn’t gotten any kind of medal whatsoever for Victor, missing out on the podium altogether thanks to his dismal free skate plummeting his overall score! He’d flopped on everything; he’d flubbed his jumps, his spins were sloppy - even his usually easy dance elements had been stiff and lack luster. He hadn’t been in his performance at all and it had showed in a score that pinched at Yuuri’s heart just thinking about.

He just wanted to hide in his hotel room, crawl under the covers and pretend the outside world didn’t exist until his flight back to Bangkok - but of course, Celestino wouldn’t let him be so lucky! Honestly, he wasn’t even sure why J.J had invited him to his wedding in the first place. It wasn’t like they were friends … were they?

The ballroom was grand and ostentatious for the reception - nothing short of what Yuuri would expect of the Canadian skater. Glamourous silk drapes lined the room and delicate fairy lights twinkled overhead like stars. J.J’s band played on the stage, toasting the new bride and groom for what felt like the hundredth time that night. Yuuri’s face twisted in a grimace, eyes falling back to the pristine table cloth beneath his glass; he wondered how long Celestino would make him stay there before he’d be able to slink away unnoticed.

Yuuri wasn’t in the mood for dancing. He just sat in the corner of the ballroom with his suit jacket draped over the back of his chair, listening to the music from the dance floor with dull ears and swirling the champagne in his glass to try and distract him from the depths of his own thoughts. It didn’t work so well. Replays of his humiliating free skate painting a scorching burn across his cheeks and Yuuri fought the urge to just bury his face in his hands and  _ cry _ .  

The champagne glass stilled in his hand. Yuuri tipped it up to his mouth instead. Maybe a drink or two would help him forget.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Yuuri nearly choked.

He blinked up a fraction of a second before his brain registered the Russian accent, champagne glass pausing at his lips.

Victor Nikiforov smiled down at him. He looked just as perfect as ever, dressed in an immaculate black suit that cut sharp lines down his body and intriguing angles that made Yuuri’s mouth water. A blood red tie sat at the base of his throat. Yuuri wasn’t sure if it was just him or the effect of the bold tie and pocket square, but he thought Victor looked a little paler than when he’d last seen him.

Yuuri felt his heart drop into his stomach, crude swearing bloomed fluently through his head. Victor was  _ here _ . He hadn't even thought …

Yuuri set his glass back down on the table with scarlet cheeks and heart pounding solidly in his chest, hoping Victor didn’t notice the way his hand trembled slightly. Every thud behind his rib cage made Yuuri wish the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

He knew he was staring. He could feel it, but he also couldn’t stop. He hadn’t been prepared to see Victor here, though he guessed he shouldn’t be all that surprised. A handful of other skaters were lurking on the dance floor somewhere, and Yuuri guessed that Victor must have spent more than enough Grand Prix finals with the Canadian to be more worthy of an invite than Yuuri was.

It still didn’t quite prepare him for the panic that hit him though, seeing Victor Nikiforov stood  _ right there _ in front of him. Yuuri’s mouth ran dry. What was he supposed to  _ say _ ?

Victor’s lips quirked in a quick smile that didn’t reach his eyes, a touch of pink grazing his cheeks. It was so pretty, Yuuri felt his heart skip a beat. His jaw was hanging open. How long had he been gawking? Had Victor noticed? He snapped it shut with the clack of teeth,  _ praying _ Victor hadn’t noticed. The return of the smile said otherwise though.

“Hi.”

It was simple. It was polite. It gave nothing away.

Yuuri swallowed stiffly, gaze dropping down to the knot of Victor’s tie. He watched Victor’s Adam’s apple bob with avid fascination. “Hi.”

_ Go away _ , he willed in the back of his head. He wasn’t ready for this. Not right after the disaster of Skate Canada and the emotional tidal wave that came with it. Everything was a mad jumble in his head; all rage, and love, and pain. Victor must hate him. He must do, after that free skate performance in America. And after that phone call… god, why had Yuuri just hung up like that? But then, why had he called Victor in the first place instead of Phichit? It didn’t make sense.  _ Nothing  _ made sense. Yuuri wanted to just clamp his hands over his ears and scream until he woke up from this nightmare he was obviously stuck in-

“Would you like to dance?”

The nightmare didn’t end.

Yuuri felt the blood leave his face as he glanced up - just in time to catch the glitter of vulnerability that darted through the Russian’s gaze. He looked tired, splashes of sea green in his irises slightly duller than Yuuri remembered. Something clenched in Yuuri’s chest as he noticed - hard.

How could he say no? Yurio’s narrowing green eyes watching their every move from across the dance floor reminded him that he couldn’t.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Yuuri nodded.

His legs felt like jelly when he stood - just like they had at his free skate. He hadn’t been able to shake Victor off his mind then either.

Victor offered out his hand. Yuuri hesitated for only a moment before he took it. The Russian’s fingers were warm and firm around his as they pulled him gently forward towards the dance floor, a warm smile pressing into Victor’s handsome features. He didn’t turn around. Victor stepped back with careful, deliberate steps, his eyes not leaving Yuuri’s for a second as Yuuri followed with less than graceful strides. Suddenly, remembering how to put one foot in front of the other was the most complicated thing in the world. Victor’s bright smile was too distracting.

A slow dance struck up from the stage and Yuuri groaned in the back of his head; it was like the universe was working against him, throwing Victor back into his life at the  _ worst possible moment  _ in the most awkward possible way _.  _ Fourth place wasn’t how he’d wanted to reconcile things with Victor - if they could be reconciled at all! If Victor really did hate Yuuri, then it was all over...

The thought was sickening. Yuuri went numb as Victor stopped on the outskirts of the crowd of swaying couples on the dance floor and pulled him close, hand tightening around his and his other one winding feather light around Yuuri’s waist, settling on the small of his back. Yuuri’s body bowed instinctively under the touch. His chest pressed against Victor’s as they drew close, Yuuri’s spare arm slotting against the back of Victor's shoulder blade and fingers anxiously curling behind the Russian’s back. Victor wouldn’t be able to feel the nervous twist of his fingers, would he?

If he minded, he didn’t say anything, lips hovering by Yuuri’s ear. The shaky tingles of his exhale sent shivers down Yuuri’s spine.

“Congratulations on your gold,” he finally managed to say to Victor’s shoulder, while he still had the presence of mind to remember himself.

He felt Victor’s cheek shift as he smiled.

“Thank you.” His voice was smooth like warm honey, accent rolling every syllable deliciously. “What did you think?”

What did Yuuri  _ think? _

Beautiful. Perfect. Flawless. That was what Yuuri  _ thought _ – not that he could say any of them out loud, of course. Not to Victor. Instead, he just cleared his throat, swallowing the words bitterly.

Cheek angling away from Victor’s, Yuuri prayed the Russian couldn’t feel the heat rolling off his face, couldn’t feel the mad career of his heart in his rib cage against his sternum. Why did Victor have to say things like that? Exs shouldn’t be allowed to say things like that, especially with Victor’s naturally alluring accent.

“Good.”

Victor’s head tilted. “Just good?”

Yuuri felt a jolt run through him, hearing the amused smirk in the Russian’s voice. Victor wasn’t doing anything to help his composure.

He didn’t know what to say. Of course, it was more than good. A thousand words bloomed inside his head to describe Victor’s seductive routine, but Yuuri couldn’t remember how to say any of them in English, tongue knotting awkwardly. Why did Victor care anyway? He hated Yuuri, right? Emotions crashed inside Yuuri like a rising tide as Victor’s free skate replayed over again and again on torturous loop inside his head, scrambling for an answer.

“Yurio told me about your short programme.” He finally settled on instead, twisting the subject. Yuuri scrunched his eyes shut, every word punching the air a little more out of his lungs. “The Sochi banquet, right? Apparently I… we… I mean, I don’t remem-”

“It’s okay.” Victor cut off calmly. “I didn’t expect you to.”

Yuuri felt the Russian’s sigh more than he heard it, the slow deflate of his chest making him want to sink away into the floor and never re-emerge. Why couldn't Victor just shout at him and get it over with? It would be so easier than this mocking, this toying with him. He didn’t have to pretend to be nice to Yuuri. Surely they both knew they were past that after Victor had skated his hate in front of the entire world.

Still, Yuuri frowned. Still, he pushed his luck. “Then why…”

“ _ I _ still remember.”

_ It still matters to me,  _ went unsaid. Yuuri still heard the unspoken words echo in his head in a mournful Russian tone anyway.

He didn’t know what to say.

“I watched you too.”

This time, Yuuri really did groan, not quick enough to hold it back from spilling from his lips. His forehead dropped down to Victor’s shoulder. “You saw that?”  _ Dammit. _

Victor hummed a chuckle. “Yeah.”

It wasn’t something Yuuri found funny. He tried to focus on the smooth material of Victor’s jacket instead of the sickening twist in his gut. The fine threadbare of the suit only barely snagged on his cheeks, still rough from crying in his hotel room earlier. It was bad enough he’d flaked in his free skate - it was even worse that Victor had seen it. If he didn’t place well at his next competition, he might not even qualify for the final.

His steps faltered beneath him at the thought and Yuuri felt Victor pause too, arms tightening around him. Couples bumped against their shoulders. Victor mumbled apologies.

Shame burned through Yuuri, hot and crushing. He couldn’t skate, and now he couldn’t dance either. His chest felt like a vacuum, like his ribs were collapsing in on themselves and stabbing mercilessly through his heart, blood choking through his veins too hot and too fast. Could Victor tell? His fingers squeezed tighter around Yuuri’s, trying to guide him back into the sway of the music as he pulled him flush against his torso.

To stop him bumping into people of course, Yuuri told himself, swallowing the solid lump in his throat. So he wouldn’t make a scene. Why else would he want to be pressed against a loser like Yuuri for otherwise?

The hand behind Victor’s back clenched into a fist, fingernails digging crescent marks into his skin to try and distract himself from the warmth of Victor’s arms around him. He was just being polite, dancing with Yuuri. Polite to a fellow competitor. Maybe Victor felt sorry for him after seeing his free skate. Maybe he just wanted to remind himself how much better his new boyfriend was compared to his old one. So many maybes, but really Yuuri had no idea what was going on in Victor’s head, what the firm press of the Russian’s hand into the small of his back meant.

Victor’s face tilted, lips brushing Yuuri’s ear. “Your short programme was amazing.” he sighed, making Yuuri melt. “Yakov had to hold me back from throwing myself at you.”

Yuuri didn’t have any more space in his blood vessels to blush any deeper, a choked off noise catching in his throat. He scrunched his eyes shut tighter against the Russian’s shoulder, wishing he would stop talking. It wasn’t fair.

Then - “You were there?” Yuuri frowned, head lifting.

Yuuri wracked his brain, trying to remember seeing a glimpse of silver hair and cerulean eyes at the Skate Canada arena. That was what Victor had implied, right? That he was there, not just watching through the TV screen. Yuuri hadn’t misheard him.

He connected the dots a few seconds later though, excitement falling. “Oh,” his head dropped back down to Victor’s shoulder. As if Victor would come and watch him skate… “Of course. Yurio-”

“No, Yuuri.”

Victor’s arm slacked around his waist, peeling their bodies apart a few precious inches. Yuuri’s head straightened off Victor’s shoulder as he pulled back, intense blue eyes catching his confused gaze effortlessly. He forgot how to breathe.

“I came for you.”

Every word was clear and crisp. No room for error or misunderstanding. Even Yuuri’s anxiety couldn’t twist that - though it didn’t stop it from trying.  _ A joke _ , it said, growling in the back of Yuuri’s head.

The glow in Victor’s eyes wasn’t joking though. It was deadly serious - firm and strong with resolve, but a tender glitter shimmering the layers of crystal blue like a diamond. Yuuri didn’t dare try and put a name to it. All he knew was that it wasn’t hatred. The realisation struck him harder than he was prepared for, gasping embarrassingly loud.

He felt his hands start to tremble. “I’m sorry for wasting your trip.”

They had stopped moving.

_ “How would you feel, if I told you I loved you?” _

The song still rolled over the dance floor - soft and loving - and Yuuri leant subconsciously deeper into Victor’s arms, lost in the Russian’s mesmerising eyes. It should be illegal to have eyes like that.

“ _ It's just something that I want to do…” _

A finger dragged gently down the side of Yuuri’s cheek, hooking under his chin while the pad of Victor’s thumb brushed softly over his lower lip.

“You tend to flub your jumps when there is something on your mind.” Victor’s voice was so soft, Yuuri thought he’d imagined it until he saw Victor’s lips move. “Care to share?”

Yuuri shuddered.

_ “I'll be taking my time, spending my life...” _

Yuuri felt his lips move but he didn’t hear the sound that came out of them. All he heard was the blood drumming in his ears, the rapid pulse pounding through his system. His mind went blank. He couldn’t think.

He saw Victor’s reaction though, heart skipping a beat in response - the Russian’s breath visibly hitched, hands tightening around Yuuri.

What the hell had he said?

“ _ Falling deeper in love with you…” _

Victor’s chest pressed solid against Yuuri’s, and Yuuri wasn’t sure who the racing heartbeat running between them belonged to anymore. He could taste the sweet champagne on Victor’s breath. A hand ran smoothly from his waist to the backs of his shoulder blades, arm strong and fingers soft. The tips of Victor’s silver bangs tickled at Yuuri’s cheek and Yuuri uncurled his fist behind Victor to smooth his palm against the Russian’s hip, anchoring himself to reality.

One glimpse of those molten aquamarine eyes though, and he was lost again. His mind swam, a mile high from his body. The rest of him sank further into Victor’s embrace. He couldn’t help himself.

Victor was… well, Victor. Beautiful and talented; everything Yuuri had imagined perfection to look like only he hadn’t seemed to realise it before that moment, until it was a hairsbreadth away and he was dancing in its arms. It was like he’d been blind for his whole life until the moment Victor’s forehead touched against his, drowning his vision in every shade of blue. Yuuri never wanted to resurface.

_ “So tell me that you love me too.” _

All he would need to do was angle his mouth just a fraction, Yuuri couldn’t help but think. One tiny little shift and he could have Victor’s lips on his, close that last little bit of distance between them…

Every cell in his body was itching to surge forward. Eyes hooded in want, drunk on the champagne on Victor’s breath, and lost in the blue swirl of the Russian’s eyes, Yuuri engraved every inch of the moment to memory. He had no idea what was happening, what would happen. All he knew was that -  _ somehow  _ \- the tight twisting knot inside his chest wasn’t choking him anymore. The nagging voice in the back of his head was silent. Victor swamped his senses; he overwhelming him, lifting a spark across every square millimetre their bare skin touched.

Victor sucked in a shaky breath and Yuuri held his, a shiver of anticipation running down his spine as the Russian’s eyes fluttered shut.  _ This was it _ , Yuuri thought breathlessly. Victor was going to kiss him.

Yuuri’s brain shut down. He stopped thinking, listening to the thrum of his heart in his chest and watching the tiny crease press between Victor’s eyebrows, fighting his desire. Yuuri wished he wouldn’t. All he wanted in that moment was to feel Victor’s firm body press against his, for the Russian to lose his exhale against Yuuri’s lips.

It never came.

Fingers closed around Yuuri’s upper arms tight enough to bruise and Yuuri blinked up, eyes wide with surprise. Victor’s head was bowed, silver bangs hanging low over his face.

He swore in Russian, breathless. “I’m sorry.”

_ What? _

Yuuri swayed as Victor’s hands brushed off him.

His eyes were wide and stunned, blinking dumbly as his brain tried to catch up. The air shifted in front of him. Before he’d finished his next blink, Yuuri was alone on the dance floor, staring at empty air in front of him where Victor had stood less than half a second ago. Still his mind lagged behind, confused.

His neck clicked as his head turned; he caught the briefest flash of silver before it disappeared, ballroom door closing firmly behind it.

Cold washed over Yuuri, cruel and merciless. It splashed the blush off his cheeks and numbed the sensitive parts of his body where Victor had touched him, erasing all trace of the drunken buzz that had hummed through his system. Nausea curled in his stomach and Yuuri felt the very solid thwack of his heart as it dropped out of his chest, blinking back to the dancefloor around him. His mouth hung open, still waiting to be kissed. What had happened?

It was obvious what had happened, a curt voice from the back of his head chimed in. Yuuri visibly flinched. Victor had walked away from him - there wasn’t much of a clearer message than that to show the younger skater exactly how the Russian felt about him. Yuuri’s fists curled at his side, feeling the air catch in his throat.

Victor hated him.

It was like a punch to the gut.

Suddenly, waiting for Celestino didn’t matter - Yuuri had to go. He couldn’t stay there any longer, couldn’t bear the frowning looks other dancers were casting him over the partner’s shoulders.

Sure he’d been prepared for the Russian to hate him, but it was something else entirely actually having Victor walk away from him, leaving him with empty arms and a chill on his lips from where their breaths had mingled. It was like the worst pain imaginable. It weighed heavy on his shoulders and glued his shoes to the floor. How would he ever skate again? He couldn’t even move off the dance floor. Shame burned from every angle and Yuuri bowed his head, avoiding the concerned gazes glancing his way. He didn’t want to see, didn’t want to be reminded of his rejection.

One pair of sharp green eyes wasn’t going to give him an easy escape though. Yuuri swore under his breath.

Yurio’s head jerked to the door, eyes flashing with deadly warning.  _ Follow him,  _ he mouthed across the dance floor, still swaying flawlessly with Otabek like nothing was happening. The tense, white knuckles around the Kazakhstan's hand betrayed him though.  

Yuuri took a step back, nearly tripping over himself as his body refused to work the way his mind wanted it to.  _ Dammit.  _ He knew he didn’t have a choice. Somehow, he was leaving that ballroom. He could either walk out the ballroom himself or Yurio would throw him out, bruising the rest of his body to match that of his battered heart. It was no less than he deserved. His heart hammered. Sweaty hands straightened his tie in what he hoped looked like a casual gesture and his breaths felt too loud as he turned, echoing embarrassingly in his ears. Yuuri forced himself to go anyway.

 

* * *

 

Victor’s fist slammed into the wall, pain radiating dully up his forearm. He barely noticed it; the anger was back.

It flooded through him - red hot and potent – firing through his bloodstream in an uncontrollable blaze that would surely disintegrate his heart into ashes at this rate. Only it didn’t. It beat on torturously through the blaze, every thump fuelling the fire into something even more potent that scorched through Victor’s system like it would burn him up from the inside with bitterness.

The fingers of his spare hand raked through his silver locks. They were far from steady. He’d been so close to kissing Yuuri back in the ballroom, so close to ruining everything…

The knuckles of his fist were white as he braced his forearm against the wall of the hotel’s corridor, thanking his lucky stars that everybody was still inside the ballroom enjoying the party instead of out there loitering. He needed the space. He needed the silence.

It was too silent.

It had taken him so long to dull the rage into something bearable, months passing before he could look at his own reflection without wanting to punch the mirror. It was all his fault, after all; the reason Yuuri had crashed in the first place, the reason Yuuri had left for Thailand, the reason Yuuri had hurt so much and lost so much… all Victor’s fault. Because he was a failure as a coach and as a man. He’d let Yuuri down and driven him away again. Victor hadn’t thought it could get worse than after the Sochi banquet when Yuuri hadn’t called, but he’d been wrong. 

So, so wrong.

It was so much worse.

Instead of the numbness he’d expected from the solitude was emotions. In every shape and form. Rage, love, pain, longing … all jumbled up inside Victor, until he felt like he was going to explode. Rage was always at the forefront of everything, blaming himself for what happened endlessly. He’d channeled it the only way he’d known how - on the ice. 

He hadn’t been prepared for the fact that Yuuri might  _ actually  _ watch it. What must he possibly think of Victor? Seeing his own moves splattered across Victor’s routine… it was the biggest insult Victor could have done.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood suddenly on end. A chill rolling down his spine.

He felt Yuuri’s presence behind him more than he heard it. 

Sucking in a deep breath, Victor swallowed his pride. “I’m sorry, Yuuri,” he choked, voice wavering. “It’s not your fault I know, but… I just don’t know what to do with all these things you make me feel yet.” A dry chuckle clashed with a gasp and Victor’s head hung in bitter shame, humourless smile curling his lips. He had to try... “It’s so confusing. How do you bear it?”

Silence answered him.

Victor’s head just shook. 

He’d blown it. He’d already known it would end in bitter disappointment from the moment Yurio had shoved him to go and ask Yuuri to dance, but he’d done it anyway. It was Yuuri. He couldn’t resist.

And that had almost been his undoing on the dancefloor. Yuuri’s mouth had just looked so tempting, lips parted perfectly and soft, hooded eyes gleaming ‘ _ kiss me, Victor’.  _ It wasn’t real, of course. Victor knew he was just seeing what he wanted to see, convincing himself that the pretty red smattered over Yuuri’s cheeks was from his adorable blush rather than from held back anger, to save his fragile heart.

“I’m sorry.”

The words echoed around the corridor and Victor’s heart clenched, fist tightening. He resented the ache in Yuuri’s voice, that he was apologising for Victor’s shortcomings.

“I went too far.” Yuuri went on, faster - like he was nervous. “I didn’t-”

“Please … don’t.”

Something cracked. 

Victor practically heard the hard snap of his heart breaking in his chest, but he pushed himself up off the wall regardless, turning on his heel. He couldn’t bear it after all. Yuuri  _ apologising  _ for the almost-kiss _ , _ like it was his fault… it gleamed from his round brown eyes across the corridor, and Victor had to battle down the urge to just gasp at how breathtaking they were. 

His memory hadn’t done Yuuri justice. The real deal was so much more complex, so hard and so soft at the same time, where his body knew exactly what it wanted - slotting into Victor’s arms effortlessly - while his mind fought for something else no doubt a little more rational. His dark hair was longer than Victor remembered, still combed back nicely from his face and a new tie knotted at the base of his neck, lying slightly off centre on his chest. It wasn’t the one Victor had bought him. Perhaps a new beau had gifted it instead. Yuuri must have hundreds of men throwing themselves down for him.

In that moment though, it didn’t matter. Yuuri was his in that corridor for those few precious minutes, eyes only for Victor.

Victor’s head shook once, jaw tensing. “Don’t apologise.”

He never wanted that.

For a moment, Yuuri said nothing.

His jaw hung open, seemingly lost for words. When he found them again, the best he could summon was - “But your boyfriend-”

Victor made a soft choking sound at the word.

“You believed all that stuff?” The Russian’s lips quirked in the corner for a fraction of a second, watching Yuuri’s eyes glow a fraction wider in surprise. His heart sank at the reaction. “I thought you of all people…” His eyebrows pinched together. “No, I guess... I guess you wouldn’t…”

It came so naturally to think that Yuuri still knew him. That he was still a fan at least and someone who cared enough to know Victor’s real from his fake at most. It always took him a second to remind himself that he was wrong though. Even eight months down the line, he still clung to his old Yuuri, to the idea that this was all just a bad dream and Yuuri’s eyes would one day blink back in recognition, lip spread in a wide smile and apologise for the bad joke of pretending to forget him. He was still waiting though.

Yuuri’s brow furrowed. He didn’t understand. 

The old Yuuri would have known, Victor thought, heart strings tugging. He would have seen through those phoney Instagram posts, mocking Yuuri to try and tempt him back.

It was petty and childish, Victor knew, but it wasn’t the only reason he’d hooked up with all those guys. If Yuuri really was done with him then he had to believe there was somebody else out there for him, someone who could make him feel as Yuuri made him felt. None of them had so far though. It was all shallow and empty, routine kisses and publicity stunt dates. None of those other boyfriends had held a candle to Yuuri, couldn’t make his heart skip a beat with a smile the way Yuuri could.

He didn’t linger on it though. Yuuri wasn’t smiling now, brow twisted in confusion and fingers playing anxiously at his sides.

Victor’s heart weighed heavy in his chest. “Why did you call me?”

He had to ask. He had to know. That short phone call meant so much to Victor, had sparked such a hope inside him...he hadn’t even realised it had been Yuuri that had called him until Yuuri had hung up with a squeak and Victor had checked the caller ID. 

Yuuri paled in front of him, horror flooding through his round brown eyes. That wasn’t a good sign, Victor couldn’t help but think.

“It-it was an accident.”

Victor swallowed hard, trying not to be disappointed.

“I don’t even have your number saved in my phone anymore, so I don’t know how …”

The air knocked out of Victor’s lungs like someone had punched him - that one hurt. Not so much the fact that Yuuri didn’t have his number - who kept their ex’s phone numbers anyway? - though he was hardly happy about it. It was the  _ anymore _ . The reminder that it had once been there and Yuuri had very deliberately deleted it since, had chosen cut Victor out of his life. That stung the most.

Victor’s gaze dropped down to the corridor’s carpet, analysing the soft polka dot pattern to try and distract himself from the sharp pain stabbing behind his ribs.

“Um, Victor… your short programme...”

Of course Yuuri would ask. Victor’s lips quirked in a sad smile as the memories flooded back to him, the old Yuuri bolt, and confident, and drunk, seducing him effortlessly in a hot mess. How could Victor have done anything but fall for Yuuri Katsuki that night? 

The words stuck in Victor’s throat when he tried to say them though, thumb pressing into the inside of his ring finger, over the ghost of his connection with Yuuri. He pressed his eyes shut, trying to pull himself together. Slow, measured breaths passed through his lips. When he blinked up, Yuuri shrank at the intensity in his gaze.

“It’s for you,” he said bluntly. Honestly. “It’s all for you. Everything.”

The words spilled out fast, like Victor had been holding them in for so long and was just  _ desperate _ to finally let them free. He hadn’t realised just how true it was until then.

Why bother pretending anymore?

A shiver visibly ran through Yuuri. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, chest jolting with his sharp inhale. “And the free skate?”

Victor swore silently in his head. Teeth snagged his lower lip guiltily, catching his careless words before he could say them. He should have known that question was coming, the one he so desperately wanted to ignore. 

The silence stretched out.

Yuuri didn’t take it back, eyes still round and expectant. 

Victor opened his mouth. And closed it again.

“I was angry,” he finally said carefully. “I’m sorry. I…” Victor tipped his head back a fraction, silver bangs falling away from his honestly pained face and glittering gaze meeting Yuuri’s. “I didn’t know what to do with that feeling at the time so... I skated it.” His shoulders lifted in a weak shrug, hands splayed to the sides. “It’s all I’ve ever known.”

He didn’t expect Yuuri to understand. They’d never really talked about it before Yuuri’s accident, something they’d never needed to delve into before while Yuuri had soothed every hurt instead of lift it to the surface.

Across the corridor, Yuuri blinked. 

What was going through his head? Victor wondered. Those beautiful brown eyes looked stunned - shocked even! What had he been expecting?

Then Yuuri’s eyebrows pinched in confusion.

It was mesmerizing, watching the myriad of emotions flitter across Yuuri’s face. Confusion, bright-eyed wonder, doubt crushing the spark in his gaze...they moved so honestly over Yuuri’s face that Victor couldn’t help being so entranced. 

He’d never wanted superpowers more than in that moment, ready to sell his soul to know what was going on behind those vulnerable chocolate orbs. He’d been prepared for anger - Victor had practically ripped off Yuuri’s moves for his free skate, after all. Yakov had warned him, but it hadn’t been until the competition had been over and the emotional haze had started to lift that Victor had really realised it for himself, understood that it wasn’t as flattering for Yuuri as he’d first imagined it to be. It wasn’t anger or irritation that met him though. It was something a lot more fragile than that, something softer that Victor couldn’t quite place.

Until his leg dragged forward a step and Yuuri flinched.

Like he was  _ scared. _

The thought cut sharply through Victor’s mind and he gasped. Where had that come from? As soon as he thought it though, he knew he wasn’t wrong, heart constricting tightly in his chest. He didn’t miss the way Yuuri’s hand crossed protectively in front of him to play subconsciously with his fingers - his ring finger in particular. Just like Victor did when he was missing Yuuri. Victor swore in the back of his head. He was such an idiot.

He wanted to apologise. He wanted to bow politely like Yuuri knew from Japan and say sorry until it was the only word he remembered how to pronounce, until it was effortless in English, Japanese, Russian - whatever Yuuri wanted to hear! Whatever would ease the brutal cramp of his ribcage that he knew was choking Yuuri too.

Victor was scared too. He recognised that wary glint in Yuuri’s eyes so well, remembered the way it sat so heavily on his heart when he’d worn the same expression watching Yuuri walk away from him. What was Yuuri afraid of? 

Hands curled into fists at Victor’s sides and Yuuri blurred slightly in front of him, eyes wet. He couldn’t help it. He’d never thought of himself as a cruel person until now, until the raw consequences of his very conscious decisions was staring him in the face. Why had he skated that stupid routine? He really was an idiot. Yuuri’s expression pinched with uncertainty. Victor had done that. The thought speared right through his heart. 

Victor sucked in a shaky breath, taking a tentative step forward. Like he was scared of Yuuri’s reaction. Those brown eyes shimmered dangerously. Victor had done that...

“You have no idea what you do to me...”

The words felt numb on Victor’s lips, but he barely cared. He was just thankful Yuuri didn’t turn and bolt when he took another step forward, drawn to the Japanese skater like he was being pulled on a thread. Yuuri was just irresistible, that perfect blush spilling over cheeks _ melting  _ something inside Victor.

A choked off sound cut off in Yuuri’s throat and Victor paused in the middle of the corridor. A tear slid over Yuuri’s cheek. “Vitya, I...”

Victor stiffened instantly.

The words trailed off and after a hopeless moment, Yuuri’s head just shook, sniffling softly. He looked so lost, so miserable…

The air hitched brokenly in Victor’s throat. “What did you just call me?”

It was barely more than a whisper, but it still made Yuuri flinch. Victor could see the self-doubt flash in the younger skater’s eyes, recognising the unconfident dash rush through Yuuri as he analysed every move he’d made in the last twenty four hours for what he’d done to trigger Victor’s reaction. 

He wouldn’t figure it out, Victor knew, throat running dry helplessly. The confusion in Yuuri’s eyes didn’t lie. He hadn’t realised he’d used Victor’s affectionate nickname - the one that had never left the bedroom between them until then - rolling off his tongue so effortlessly. Again, Yuuri’s body seemed to remember better than his mind did. 

Desire hit Victor hot and hard, tingling every cell in his body alert to Yuuri. He was tuned in to every detail in front of him; the rebellious strands of hair that flopped sexily over Yuuri’s face; the way he bit down onto his lower lip to keep himself silent; the nervous glint in his adorable brown eyes that deepened into something just a little darker as Victor visibly reacted to his words. His breaths picked up ever so slightly and Victor felt colour pool on his cheeks. He couldn’t help it. Something in Yuuri still remembered him.

It was all he needed. 

Yuuri barely had the presence of mind to blink at the quick succession of steps striding up the corridor towards him, glancing up just in time to see the molten swirl of aquamarine before lips pressed hard into his. Victor’s eyes fluttered shut.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. Hands threaded through Yuuri’s hair and Victor’s mouth moved hungrily over his like he was desperate to feel every inch of Yuuri’s lips, memorise them unreservedly. His tall, lithe body pressed against Yuuri’s, the firm ridges of his muscular form slotting perfectly against the younger skater just as they had done on the dance floor, like they were made for nothing else but to fit into each other’s arms.

Yuuri just blinked.

His mouth hung open in shock as Victor kissed him, tongue running along his lower lip but hesitating before he pushed in to tangle with Yuuri’s. He could feel Yuuri’s reservation.

Kissing Yuuri was a bad idea - Victor knew that. 

It wasn’t enough to stop him though. 

Yuuri’s whole body was stiff to the touch, wound tight like a spring and stood bolt straight like a plank of wood while Victor practically threw himself at him, all hot, messy and needy. He couldn’t help himself. Yuuri had called up that private little nickname from the depths of his memory, had danced with him, had called him - even for a fleeting second…

Fingers twisted roughly in Yuuri’s hair and the younger skater gasped on instinct, body bowing against the Russian unexpectedly. His groan was swallowed by Victor’s eager lips.

It had to mean something, Victor told himself desperately. It had to.

It was overwhelming. It was perfect. The sight in front of him only served to shred his self control even more. There wasn’t a speck of fear in Yuuri’s expression anymore; eyes fluttered shut, cheeks flushed a pretty pink, and lips sighing desperately in Victor’s mouth … Yuuri was a picture of desire, lost in longing. He was in utter abandon.

A hand left Yuuri’s hair and Yuuri whined brokenly at the loss until the long, slender fingers toyed at the tight fist at his side instead, teasing his fingers apart. Yuuri opened them instantly, threading them through Victor’s.

He squeezed back. Hard.

Victor made a quiet, choked off sound in his throat - and this time it was Yuuri’s turn to kiss the noise away. His lips pressed softly against Victor’s, letting his eyes fall shut at last.

This was really happening.

Victor’s heart hammered wildly in his chest as Yuuri’s spare hand slid up to the cup the back of Victor’s shoulder blade, fingers twisting in the fine material of Victor’s suit to ground himself. The hand curled around his tightened a fraction, Victor clinging right back. It took Yuuri’s breath away, body pressing instinctively into Victor for more contact.

The hand lost in Yuuri’s hair trailed down to cup his cheek, and Victor’s heart swelled at the warmth of Yuuri’s flushed face against his skin. It felt so intimate, Yuuri’s breath hitching. A gentle thumb brushed the lingering tear away from his cheek, Victor’s mouth grazing off his for a breathless moment.

“Upstairs?” Victor gasped, voice thick. His forehead touched against Yuuri’s, eyes still closed like he was afraid to open them, afraid to shatter the illusion. “ _ Please.” _

Yuuri didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

 

* * *

 

“Say it again…”

“ _ Vitya _ .”

Victor’s arms tightened around Yuuri’s waist and he made a happy crooning sound into the skin of Yuuri’s chest, tangled together in the sheets of Victor’s hotel room bed. Yuuri couldn’t remember ever feeling so relaxed.

The smile on his cheeks was so wide it hurt, reminding him of the other  _ sore  _ parts of his body in a way that brought the blush back to his cheeks. Victor was a very  _ thorough  _ lover. It couldn’t get any better than this, Yuuri couldn’t help but think. With Victor in his arms - naked and beautiful - silver hair splayed out over the tanned skin of his pectoral muscles, and fireworks bursting in the distance outside the window, everything was perfect. Beyond perfect....

His arm tightened around Victor’s shoulder, sighing into the warm length of Victor’s body pressing into his side. “So Davide-”

“-broke up with me.” Victor finished. “He thought I sounded annoying when I spoke Russian.”

The skin on Yuuri’s chest tingled as Victor’s breath washed over him. The Russian’s eyes were closed, silver eyelashes fanning prettily over his flushed cheeks. His face was relaxed, lips curved in a dreamy smile while his fingers played around the softer areas of Yuuri’s lower stomach under the covers with a featherlight touch. It was only just not ticklish. 

Yuuri frowned, head lifting a fraction off the pillow. “But you  _ are  _ Russian.”

It escaped his understanding how anybody could possibly find Victor annoying in any shape or form - let alone his Russian in particular. His Russian was the best part. Hearing Victor’s Russian had definitely …  _ done things  _ to Yuuri, sighed breathlessly in his ear while Yuuri had-

Victor just shrugged. 

Yuuri’s head thudded dully back onto the pillow.

“Makka didn’t like him anyway.”

A small smile pricked at Yuuri’s lips; a possessive part of him was glad that Makkachin didn’t like Victor’s ex. “He liked Dimitri though...”

Victor chuckled, smiling into Yuuri’s right pectoral. “Dimitri was a vet student! He was better with animals than people.” His face scrunched up, nose crinkling in distaste. “Bad kisser. Just…” A shudder ran through him. “ _ Eugh… _ ” 

“And the others?”

Delicate fingertips trailed up Yuuri’s stomach, walking the faint line that marked the definition between his abdominal muscles. Glowing blue eyes followed them.

_ Blue,  _ Yuuri thought, holding his breath as Victor’s fingers traced over the swell of his left pectoral. Not a trace of the sea green that had always crept into the Russian’s gaze when he was sad. Scattered shades of every colour of blue filled his irises like a thousand shattered crystals melting together, colours swirling beautifully. It was the most mesmerizing thing Yuuri had ever seen. Pale fingertips fanned out over where his heart lay and Yuuri’s breath hitched softly. Could Victor feel how fast his pulse was racing?

He brushed the bangs back from Victor’s face with slightly shaky fingers, trying to distract himself from the tightening pressure behind his ribcage. 

Victor didn’t help.

His molten blue gaze flickered up and Yuuri damn near forgot how to breath. A small smile tugged at the Russian’s lips, fingers stilling over Yuuri’s heart. “They weren’t you.”

Yuuri’s exhale trembled. He had never planned this when he’d come to Canada. Losing his competition, reuniting with his ex at J.J’s wedding, and then ending up in bed with that same said ex… Phichit was going to have a field day when he found out. 

His phone was in the pocket of his dress trousers though, folded carefully on a chair across the room. It hadn’t been a mad scramble to undress when they’d finally gotten to Victor’s room, like Yuuri had seen in movies. It had been slow. Careful. Deliberate. Victor had paused at every new strip of skin exposed to him, caressing every inch of Yuuri like he was the most precious thing Victor had ever laid eyes on. Yuuri couldn’t begin to describe how that feeling made his heart swell, blood pulsing through him thick and warm like honey in his veins. 

It wasn’t what Yuuri had been expecting. He thought he’d show his face at the reception for a few hours and disappear. He’d never imagined he’d be here, cradling Victor in his arms and ...feel so happy about it.

A flash of pink crawled over Victor’s cheeks and his smile widened into something a little more mischievous, eyes sparkling. They flickered bashfully down to Yuuri’s collarbone. “I wanted you to notice me.” he admitted, colour darkening on his cheeks. “All those guys… I just wanted to make you jealous.”

_ Oh. _

The groan spilled from Yuuri’s lips before he could help it, rumbling from his chest. God, the way Victor just  _ said  _ things like that…

Yuuri leaned down and brushed his lips lovingly over Victor’s, heat grazing over his cheeks the second their mouths touched. He didn’t care anymore. He just needed to be close to Victor, fingers resting over the pulse in the Russian’s neck and heart skipping a beat feeling how quickly the blood pounded beneath his fingertips. Victor was just irresistible. 

Yuuri smiled into the kiss, forehead leaning down to touch Victor’s. “It worked.” 

His fingers reached up and tangled in Victor’s hair and Yuuri let his instincts guide him as he turned his body to press his front flush against Victor’s. A warm hand settled on his hip, holding him close.

He leaned back into the kiss, clinging to his composure as Victor sighed against his mouth. Something about the gesture just sent chills of anticipation down his spine, still tasting the faint tang of lust clinging to Victor’s lips. The passionate haze was starting to lift. Reality nudged at the back of Yuuri’s brain, reminding him that he was naked, and exposed, and in Victor’s bed - but he forced himself to ignore it. Just for five more minutes.

“I don’t know what happens after this.” he confessed shyly, words murmured into Victor’s palm that cupped his cheek. His face felt hot. “What do we normally do?”

Naked in another man’s bed with limbs laced together was hardly a situation Yuuri was familiar with. Did he stay? Did he go? The warmth of Victor’s embrace felt far too inviting to leave. It wasn’t like sleeping together had been a rush of urges, pining hormones peaking. They weren’t drunk. It wasn’t a one night stand… was it?

He couldn’t look at Victor’s face, glancing down to pick at the fine details of his shoulder instead. Faint red marks in the shape of fingerprints lurked there. They would bruise by morning.

Victor just smiled, pressing one more firm kiss to Yuuri’s lips before he flopped onto his back, lacing a lazy arm behind his head. “I don’t know.” he beamed up at the ceiling as Yuuri crawled into the space under his arm, laying his head down on the Russian’s chest and closing his eyes happily. “We’ve never done this before.”

Yuuri’s eyes snapped open. “What?!”

He bolted upright, hand braced on Victor’s chest and his wild black hair falling into his face as he stared down at the Russian with wide eyes. Victor’s were still fluttered shut, face still relaxed like nothing had happened.

Long, slender fingers walked calmly up the length of Yuuri’s arm, sparks of electricity dancing off Yuuri’s skin at every point they touched. “We never had sex.” Victor said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “You wanted to wait until we were married. We did …  _ other things _ , but not this.” He shrugged. “You wanted to save it.”

Yuuri felt his jaw hang open, shocked. “Then…” Eyes roamed over the sheets, over where they’d just - “Why did you just let me…”

Victor shrugged.

“You’re different.” The Russian’s hand smoothed over the top of Yuuri’s arm, round to the back of his shoulder blade. “You want different things now.”

He shrugged like it was no big deal, expression relaxed and body splayed out open and honest beneath Yuuri, like he had nothing to hide. The fingers on Yuuri’s skin danced softly, waltzing invisible patterns on his back. Victor’s eyes stayed shut, crinkled happily at the corners at whatever thoughts ran through his head.

Suddenly, Yuuri was glad.

Eyes closed, Victor couldn’t see the crimson blotching over Yuuri’s cheekbones and flushing deep down his chest, shoulders hunching as self-consciousness crashed over him like a tsunami.

They’d never had sex.

Until now.

Yuuri had just lost his virginity and he hadn’t even realised it, just assuming that if he’d been engaged to Victor that he would have at least have slept with the guy at some point. It was just how things worked… wasn’t it?

Apparently not.

Not that he would really know anyway. It wasn’t like Yuuri had been in a string of long term relationships to know what the drill was, to tell the normal from the movie endings. All he’d had was Victor. All he had  _ now _ was Victor.

Guilt churned in his gut, but he wasn’t entirely sure what he felt guilty about. It felt like disappointment. He’d let himself down - his old self, at least. Waiting until they were married  _ was  _ a romantic idea, was something special. Yuuri could understand why he’d wanted that before and Victor seemed to be like such a hopeless romantic to go along with the idea too. In a moment of weakness, that was all gone.

Yuuri crossed an arm over his chest, sucking in his stomach subtly. Suddenly, he felt too naked. Exposed. Vulnerable. Maybe it was a mistake after all.

He couldn’t ignore the hard pulse of his heartbeat, more heat pooling on his face as their intimate time together flashed through his mind. His face fell into his hands, groaning hard into his fingers. The hand behind his shoulder blade stilled.

“Yuuri…”

He felt Victor stiffen half a beat before the Russian sat up suddenly, arms wrapping tightly around Yuuri’s shoulders and drawing him in close. Fingers threaded gently through his hair.

Yuuri didn’t fight it as Victor guided his head down to his shoulder, breath catching as he felt every ripple of Victor’s body move with his own gentle breathing. His body ran flush with the Russian’s - feeling everything - and shuddering at the sigh that ghosted over the skin of his shoulder.

“It’s okay.” Victor soothed, fingers working out the tangled lumps of gel from Yuuri’s hair carefully. “I just meant…” Another sigh. “I didn’t think it was fair to hold you to promises you don’t remember making.”

Yuuri’s fingers found Victor’s taut bicep and held on tight, whimper bleeding through his lips.

It was exactly what he wanted to hear.

Eyes scrunched shut against Victor’s warm skin and Yuuri fought to control the mad race of his heart, still tasting the faint tang of salty sweat on Victor’s shoulder. His chest swelled happily, tears beading in the corners of his eyes.

He had a memory.

A new one.

He’d assumed that his first time had been with Victor before his accident and as a result, had been lost in the haze of his amnesia - just like his first kiss had been.

Only he was wrong. He hadn’t lost the memory of his first time. It was firmly engraved in his mind from the last few hours he and Victor had spent together, sound in the knowledge that he’d given himself to Victor because he’d freely wanted to rather than it just being a distant fact that didn’t feel like it belonged to his life anymore. He had a new memory with Victor, one that wasn’t steeped in disappointment or confusion.

And Victor didn’t regret it - even though it went directly against what the old-Yuuri he had known had said he wanted. He was letting go; embracing Yuuri as he was now, not as the person he used to be.

A dull glow of happiness bobbed warmly in the back of Yuuri’s heart and he closed his eyes against the comforting heat of Victor’s skin.

With his next breath, he felt Victor inhale too, chests moving together in tandem and pressing into the other like the contact was just as crucial as the oxygen itself. Not a slither of space crept between them as Victor slowly lowered them back to the bed, Yuuri still cradled carefully in his arms, like he would shatter if he let him go.

“I don’t want to go.” Yuuri sighed as his head settled on Victor’s chest, listening to the steady beat of the Russian’s heart.

It was bewitching; Yuuri felt his own pulse beat in time with Victor’s, breaths levelling out and his eyelids heavier than they were five minutes ago. He sank into Victor’s embrace, melting into the Russian’s arms all too willingly.

A pale hand touched his shoulder, holding him close. “Then don’t.”

Yuuri could barely hum a response, losing himself to the warmth of Victor’s skin and the calming beat of his heart. He could feel himself slipping away.

For once, he didn’t care. He didn’t have an ounce of will left to resist as he slipped into slumber under gentle whispers of Russian in his ear and the tingling touch of Victor’s trailing fingertip on his shoulder. For the first time since his accident, Yuuri felt fully content, wrapped up safe and warm in Victor’s strong arms.  

He didn’t have a single nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is [Ed Sheeran's How Would You Feel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZZMZiBCRX4c) btw. Thought this song was just beautiful.
> 
> Bit longer than usual but figured it was worth it after the long endured suffering of angst. Hope you liked it! Let me know what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

The sharp crack of Yuuri’s blades hitting the ice echoed around the rink as he landed his jump flawlessly, a small surge of pride riding through him. Small. Very small. Barely there actually, sighing as he skated backwards on the ice, straightening his knees from their flex. It was only a double after all – not the triple it had been in his original routine.

“Excellent, Yuuri!”

A brilliant smile flashed from the rink side and Yuuri tweaked his lips back at his Italian coach in what he remembered a grin to feel like. It still wasn’t quite right though, stiff on his face.

Dull evening light spilled through the windows, casting long shadows over the ice of the French rink. It was all but empty if not for Yuuri and Celestino, arriving ridiculously early in Paris to work on Yuuri’s routine before the Trophee de France competition and get him as settled as possible. The last thing either of them wanted was a repeat performance of Canada. Dark shapes danced over the ice as Yuuri lazily skated through his routine, almost… almost  _ bored _ with his own performance. He turned back to the barrier. His shadow stretched out long and thin ahead of him, hands braced on his hips and trying to battle down the wave of sickening disappointment rising inside him.

The weight of Victor’s gaze from the stands wasn’t helping.

He’d arrived the day after Yuuri – without Yakov – rarely taking the ice, seemingly more content to watch Yuuri from the side lines. His presence alone set Yuuri’s nerves on edge, feeling those sharp blue eyes drink in his every detail while skated.

Today, the Russian sat in a glimmer of black and silver on the stands; wrapped up in black lycra, even though he wasn’t working on the ice, hair shimmering in the moonlight like a halo.

Yuuri couldn’t believe he hadn’t realised they were both competing before they’d both arrived in France. It just amped up the pressure. There would be nowhere to hide with his performance this time around. Victor would be there, watching him carefully as both supporter and competitor, reading into his every move. Yuuri had to bring his everything to this competition, show Victor what he was capable of...

And if he didn’t place in second or higher, he could kiss his chance of being at the Grand Prix Final goodbye. It would be all over.

The thought weighed heavy on his heart, dragging at his limbs and curling sickeningly in his stomach. He wanted to be better. He’d travelled halfway across the world for it, left the perfect man, and risked everything on this last shot to make it at the Grand Prix Final; because if he failed again – third season in a row – Yuuri wasn’t sure he had it in him to put himself through it for a fourth. This competition was everything.

And so far, it wasn’t enough.

His short skate was almost unrecognisable.

Yuuri hadn’t told Victor yet but if Victor really had watched him in Skate Canada, then the Russian would already know, would be able to see the difference for himself. It was unmistakable. Obvious.

All of Yuuri’s quads had been cut.

And it wasn’t just for practise.

_ Quality over quantity _ , Celestino had said when he’d suggested lowering the difficulty of Yuuri’s routines, switching quads to triples and simple combinations or omitting them entirely. Yuuri had been too shocked to argue at the time, biting the inside of his cheek to hold back the sickening well of inadequacy that had flared through his system, stinging tears behind his eyes, but now he felt the uncertainty clawing at the back of his head, screaming at him.

He could feel it – even as perfectly as he’d landed that last easy jump, with Celestino beaming from the sidelines; it wasn’t a winning routine.

It wasn’t enough.

It mulled over and over in his head as he reached for his water bottle on the edge of the boards, avoiding Celestino’s eye and ignoring the flash of black out of the corner of his gaze. He sipped robotically. It didn’t help.

His knuckles were white from their tight grip on the boards and Yuuri stared at the flash of pale colour, focussing on that rather than the nervous run-away beat of his heart.

Black gloves closed over them.

Yuuri blinked up into pools of diamond fire.

“Change that jump to a quad.”

There was a hard edge to Victor’s blunt voice and Yuuri watched something jump in the Russian’s tense jaw, leaned over the boards just a little too close. Yuuri felt the familiar warmth soothe over his face. “W-what?”

The warmth of Victor’s hand, the heat of his breath ghosting over Yuuri’s cheek, and the solid conviction in his blazing blue eyes absolutely robbed Yuuri of his senses, drowned in crystal. All he could do was stare. Blink. Stare again. Even tense and a little pissed, Victor looked beautiful. His silver bangs hung dishevelled and out of place over his eye – like he’d been raking his fingers through them in frustration.

His gaze didn’t waver a second, even as Yuuri’s hand tugged slightly beneath his. “Do it again,” he said calmly. “And this time make it a quad.”

The words buzzed around in Yuuri’s head but it took another minute to connect them into coherent sentences, to understand what Victor had  _ said _ . When they did, Yuuri’s eyes popped wide - “B-but it’s right at the end of the routine!”

Celestino stepped closer, brow tense.

“Yuuri, I don’t think-”

“You’ve got stamina like nobody else has, Yuuri.” Victor cut off bluntly, not even glancing at the other coach beside him. His eyes never left Yuuri’s, holding the younger skater’s gaze like it could see right through him. His voice was firm with conviction; it made Yuuri’s heart skip a beat. “You should use it.”

“You’re not his coach any-”

“I know you.” Victor’s fingers tightened over Yuuri’s, molten swirl of his gaze softening into something a bit more… Yuuri didn’t dare think of the ‘L’ word. “Trust me.”

His voice was barely more than a whisper, but Yuuri caught every syllable, heart pounding in reply. It still frightened him that Victor could affect him so much, all just from the sound of his voice. How had Yuuri coped before his accident? Had this been what every training session had been like, as intense off the ice as much as it was on it? What Victor was suggesting was mad, impossible…

And the last time Yuuri had changed his skating style under Victor’s direction, he’d nearly cracked his skull open.

He gulped hard. His accident had been at the end of his short programme, all because of a quad late into his routine that he couldn’t handle, distracted … and Victor wanted him to attempt exactly the same thing  _ again _ ? It brought back sharp memories, the back of his head throbbing in painful reminder. He could fall again. He could get hurt again.

His eyes flickered to Celestino but the coach wasn’t watching him – he was watching Victor, something dark in his usually friendly eyes that Yuuri didn’t want to linger on. There was a challenge there, a dare.

Victor’s gaze didn’t shift from Yuuri to see it.

A thumb grazed delicately over Yuuri’s knuckles and he sucked in a sharp breath, eyes fluttering shut. It was all down to him.

Yuuri made his mind up quickly: “I want to try it.”

He could play it safe and do Celestino’s simplified routine, praying for nothing short of a miracle to get him on that podium and to the final, or he could take a chance. The same risk he’d taken before, that hadn’t paid off. The same risk that had landed him in hospital with half of his life missing. It was a gamble, an all or nothing chance. Yuuri wouldn’t get a do-over of this season though, would always look back on this competition as the turning point for his career, the thing that would make or break him.

And if he didn’t do it, he’d always wonder what if. What if he’d put in that little extra difficulty instead of playing it safe – pushed himself just a little more – and just maybe walked away with a medal?

He didn’t have the nerve to glance over at his coach as he said it, feeling the air around him sour under the bitter gaze shot in his direction. He kept his eyes on Victor instead; on that little sparkle shining on the edge of his bright blue eyes, the amused quirk in the corner of his mouth… the fingers around his hand squeezed a fraction, and Yuuri hooked his thumb over Victor’s to squeeze back.

He felt a smile curve his lips half a second before he dragged himself away – while he still could. It was far too easy to get lost in Victor’s eyes.

His heart was in his mouth as he took up position in the middle of the rink, taking a steadying breath for good measure. He felt nervous now, felt the weight of his coach and ex-coach’s gaze from the side lines watching his every move.

In his head, the upbeat J-pop song played.

Yuuri pushed off.

He tried to keep his mind clear, but it was impossible. Even skating – even half way across the rink – he could feel the weight of the animosity between the two men at the boards, the bet between them. He understood why Celestino was annoyed. He was right to be. But then… Victor was right too. He couldn’t deny it. Victor said everything Yuuri thought, but didn’t have the guts to say aloud - only he said it with more belief in Yuuri than Yuuri could ever muster of himself! It sent a rush of confidence through him that was simply intoxicating.

Adrenaline pulsed through his system, driving him on. He threw everything he had into the performance like it was his last chance to skate it, keeping Celestino’s doubles but building unmistakably for Victor’s quad. Victor’s eyes followed his every step and Yuuri felt it, piercing through him like he could see through his very soul. He saved energy where he could, bracing himself.

It still wasn’t enough.

By the time he got towards the end of the routine, he was already exhausted, legs only just not trembling with effort. He pushed himself into Victor’s quad anyway.

He couldn’t help it. The thought of returning back to the boards empty handed, having not even tried… he could already imagine the disappointment in Victor’s expression, the hurt marring his beautiful features. No, Yuuri couldn’t bear that,  _ forcing  _ his body to lift and turn into a quad toe loop in a way that he would probably regret…

Something buckled when he landed.

He felt it the second his blade touched the ice, heart skipping a beat at the purchase on his landing that  _ just wasn’t there. _ His body jerked out of balance, hand shooting out to the ice.

He felt his skin of his palm break under the scratch of the ice, teeth gritting to hold down a hiss of pain at the shards bearing into his fingers and the flare of pain rippling through his muscles as he fought for control. He would not fall, he told himself, fighting gravity’s hold. He would not. He could not. If he fell, he didn’t deserve to make it to the final, didn’t deserve to have Victor watch him skate so avidly, like every movement was a sacred calling, drawing him in.

A glimpse of blurred grey splashed through his vision. Yuuri clung to it, unable to hold down his groan as he bore his weight back deeper into the pain, searing down the backs of his thighs. His legs trembled, muscles screaming … but they held. 

A breathless groan left Yuuri as he straightened up, twisting into his final pose before his body could betray him. He was so close - he couldn’t fail now!

The last beat of the song lingered in Yuuri’s mind, dragging out longer than he remembered. He stayed still, not moving a muscle. He wasn’t going to break early; he was going to show Victor how strong he was, that he could do it, even with his legs shaking and gasping for breath. For Victor, he could do it. He could do anything.

He felt Victor’s smile across the rink, felt the proud glow in his gaze. Yuuri’s eyes fluttered shut. His arms finally dropped back to his sides, huffing a breath.

He didn’t fight the smile spreading over his face.

Hands braced on his far from steady thighs, catching his breath back with a ridiculous grin. He’d done it. He’d actually done it! Landing a quad right at the end of his routine - albeit with a hand on the ice. He couldn’t help imagine what he could do if it wasn’t the end of a long training session, if he was fresh and full of energy. Maybe he could do it perfectly. Maybe he could do  _ more. _

The thought sent hums of excitement running through Yuuri, excitement he hadn’t felt since he’d left Hasetsu. Excitement for the possibilities. This was what he’d imagined for his last real shot at the Grand Prix; giving everything, surrendering his whole being to throwing all he had into the performance, testing himself in a way he wouldn’t be able to again… and he’d done it through Victor.

Straightening up, his eyes went straight to the Russian. He was too far away to see the amused smirk on his face, but he could feel it, feel the warmth radiating from him. A shift of black - Victor was holding his arms out.

Yuuri skated towards them instantly, feeling elated.

“Did you see that?” he beamed, unable to help himself as he got closer. The smile was so wide it pinched at his cheeks, heart skipping a beat the more Victor’s features came into focus. 

He didn’t miss the way the Russian glanced to Celestino out of the corner of his eye, sparkling mischievously.  _ I told you so,  _ it said.

Yuuri ignored it.

He skated right into Victor’s open arms, not caring about anything else. Not caring about how bold it was, how his thighs ached with pain as they pressed against the boards, how it was  _ so easy _ to fall right into Victor’s embrace. He barely heard the Italian mumble something about making a call, slinking off quietly. The strong arms around him was all he cared about, the heartbeat racing between their bodies that could have belonged to either of them.

Fingers tightened around Yuuri’s shoulders. “I knew you could do it.”

Yuuri hugged back tighter.

His heart ached in his chest, like it was trying to fight through his rib cage to get closer to Victor. He wanted more of that feeling. He wanted it all the time.

“If you change the transition from your step sequence, you could get even more points.” Victor said over his shoulder. “We can fix your jumps. Put them in the second half of the routine for higher difficulty. We can do this.”

_ We.  _

Yuuri’s eyes fluttered shut - he’d never realised how happy one short word could make him until then. So much so that he didn’t even bother trying to argue with Victor’s suggestions.

It sounded ludicrous. Mad. But Victor had already believed in him enough for Yuuri to pull off one incredible feat - why not a few more? The thought of Victor putting so much faith in him, knowing what he could do better than Yuuri could dare dream of … it was intoxicating. Like he could challenge the whole world and win, all because Victor believed in him. How could one man make him feel like that? Yuuri sighed out a measured breath, surrendering to the sensation. He never wanted to let it go.

He never wanted to let Victor go.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri pushed out a slow breath through his teeth, feeling the weight of tens of thousands of eyes watching his every move bearing down on his shoulders. He smoothed over the pleated white shirt of his costume before it melted into black trousers, eyes grazing over the delicate gold patterns woven intricately over the surface of his chest.

He tried to ignore the mad thump of his heartbeat racing beneath it. Everything all boiled down to this moment - centre rink of AccorHotels Arena, his free skate just moments away. A quiet confidence hummed through his veins.

It all stemmed from the red and white blur at the boards ahead, splashed atop with silver.

_ Victor _ .

By some miracle, Yuuri had had a clean short skate the day before and Victor had spent nearly every waking moment with him the last week working on perfecting his free skate routine. They’d built on jumps, tweaked transitions, shifted placements ever so slightly… everything worked beautifully, molding together in a seamless fashion that Yuuri hadn’t even realised was possible when he had first been handed the routine in Bangkok. He hadn’t known just how spellbinding it could be until Victor had given it his magic touch, taking it to a whole new level. All Yuuri had to do was just pull it off; now, on the one day it really mattered. 

He was the last skater to hit the ice. It was all decided with him. All he needed was a good clean skate, to sit snugly under Victor’s eye wateringly high score at the top of the leaderboard. Silver was all he needed to make it to the final. He already knew he didn’t stand a chance at gold - everybody knew it! Silver would be enough though. Silver would take him to the final.

The opening tunes of his music rolled around the arena and Yuuri pushed off, twirling his body to the gloriously fast paced beat, following it like the most sacred calling.

_ “Can you hear my heartbeat? _

_ Tired of feeling never enough,” _

An arm reached over his head, fingers dragging down his cheek as his face angled up to the rafters of the stadium. He fluttered his eyes shut, surrendering to the words bathing through the arena.

They strummed a painful chord inside him, ringing a little too close to home. That was why he’d chosen the song after all. It was real for him. It was true. It had been perfect; the exact blend of what he’d felt at the height of his disappointment and the desperate, dreaming desire of what he hoped to one day feel in time to come. 

Canada hadn’t gone to plan. Yuuri had been the furthest from the history maker he’d dreamed of being than he’d ever been in his whole life.

This time was different. 

This time - Victor’s intense, focused eyes watching his every move - he felt a renewed sense of confidence surging through his veins. He was still riding the high of Victor’s absolute belief in him, feeling the blaze in the Russian’s bright blue eyes following his every move around the rink. It urged him on like nothing else.

_ Don’t take your eyes off me,  _ Yuuri willed silently in his head. 

_ “I close my eyes and tell myself that my dreams will come true,” _

Yuuri’s first jump landed with a flourish - a flawless quad Salchow into a double toe loop. The crowd roared. Yuuri’s eyes scanned the boards for another glimpse of unmistakable red, white and silver.

_ “There'll be no more darkness _

_ when you believe in yourself you are unstoppable,” _

Victor had smiled at him so warmly after their last practise, something sparkling in his crystal gaze that just made Yuuri melt inside. He’d never known how desperately he’d wanted someone to look at him like that. How much he’d needed  _ Victor  _ to look at him like that.

The more he skated, the more he could feel Victor’s intense gaze watching him. It seared into his skin through his elegant outfit, driving him on until his heart pounded in time with the beat of the music like it was his lifeline, like it was all he knew. Legs pushed, arms glided, and the soft clack of his skates hitting the ice after every jump momentarily brought Yuuri back to the rink again before his thoughts faded back into the memory of Victor’s adoring aquamarine gaze and the beautiful smile on his lips. 

_ “Where your destiny lies, dancing on the blades _

_ You set my heart on fire,” _

Yuuri dipped down to one knee on the ice, hand pushing through the air as he glided forward, reaching. Before Paris, he hadn’t known what he was reaching for. He’d gazed through his fingers practise after practise at the blurring world before him, nameless faces and meaningless figures. This time was different. Now there was red, white and silver splayed between his fingers, Victor’s unmistakable form watching Yuuri skate with his hands clenched tightly over the boards.

_ “Don't stop us now, the moment of truth _

_ We were born to make history,” _

Yuuri’s let himself flow; arms reached, his body bowed gracefully - every movement as fluid and lucid as water, graceful and beautiful. Even with the ache rippling through his muscles, Yuuri didn’t let it break his concentration, letting his mind roam free.  _ Don’t think,  _ Victor had told him.

_ Feel _ .

His mind went blank and he breathed into the void, surrendering to it.

_ “We'll make it happen, we'll turn it around _

_ Yes, we were born to make history.” _

Even Victor was lost in the blur of Yuuri’s final spin. His heart soared to new heights, feeling the emotions of his skate ripple through him like an intoxicating spark of electricity. Every cell of his body tingled with adrenalin, sensitive to the sheen of sweat glowing over his skin. A few strands of his gelled back hair had fallen forward over his forehead, swaying in front of his eyes as he let his final pose fall. Arms thudded exhausted back to his sides. Something was ringing loudly in his ears.

It took a moment for the cheering to finally start to sink in. It breathed through the numbness more and more with each laboured gasp, the world coming just a little bit more into focus with every passing second. His knees felt like jelly again, trembling as they carried him back to the rink edge.

Every muscle in his body burned with exertion and tears beaded in the corners of Yuuri’s eyes, but he wouldn’t trade the feeling for anything. Smiling faces swam past. Soft toys rained down from the sky. Yuuri could barely think through the eerie ringing in his ears, mind floating just a fraction higher than normal on his shoulders. Everything was a blissful confusion. There was only one thing Yuuri cared about though - he’d done it. He’d actually done it.

Celestino’s strong arms swallowed him up the moment he stepped off the ice and Yuuri didn’t bother trying to fight it. Not that he wanted to. Honestly, he wasn’t sure his body was strong enough to take him to the kiss and cry anymore without the Italian man guiding him.

The deafening noise of the crowd started to settle and Yuuri started to get his senses back. Distant voices broke through the ringing. Glimpses of blue and silver danced in the corner of his vision. 

Dimly, he felt himself sit down.

He couldn’t hear the overhead voice ringing through the stadium or feel his fingers as a plush toy was pushed into them. His hazy eyes just stared down at the screen in front of him, still trying to catch his breath. Whether it was worthy of silver or not, Yuuri knew he’d done his best. He was still proud, whatever the score. The numbers shifted on the screen. Yuuri just blinked, suddenly forgetting how to read.

There was no mistaking the way his name shot up the leaderboard though, soaring past Victor’s.

To  _ first  _ place.

 

* * *

 

The flash of cameras was blinding and Yuuri smiled shyly into the sea of reporters in front of him, hot blush dusting over his cheeks. His gold medal hung heavy around his neck. It was a feeling he wouldn’t trade for the world.

Cameras clicked. Recorders pushed forward. Reporters stood on their toes, trying to be the one to catch Yuuri’s attention over all the others, to have their question answered first. It was the wildest press conference Yuuri had ever been to. Questions fired at him from all sides and Yuuri strained to latch onto one at a time, trying to remember how to string words together in English to reply. His ears buzzed. The adrenalin still beat hard through his system, thrumming through his veins. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention. Not like this.

It wasn’t the attention he wanted though. What he wanted was leaned casually against the back wall with arms folded loosely over his chest, amused smirk playing on his lips. The silver medal around Victor’s neck matched his hair.

Yuuri was still trying to wrap his head around it – he’d actually  _ beaten Victor Nikiforov! _ The living legend himself…

The Russian’s bright blue eyes glowed from across the room and Yuuri smiled back at him, warmth surging in his chest. For a guy that had just been beaten by the likes of Yuuri Katuski, Victor looked pretty damned pleased with himself.

His eyes crinkled ever so slightly in the corners and the lightest touch of pink smattered over the Russian’s nose. The smile on his face was easy. Effortless. Slightly lopsided. It wasn’t perfect – but it was real. A happy little sparkle danced in his bright blue gaze that one just couldn’t fake, no matter how good an actor they were. It suited him. He looked fresh, young, and …  _ happy _ .

“Settle down!” A voice called over the chaos in Yuuri’s right ear. Celestino probably. Yuuri’s brain wasn’t fully working properly to know for sure. “Settle down, please!”

One by one, the reporters reluctantly started to sit down. This flash of the cameras tapered off. Recorders lowered back down to their owners. The mad rush of voices slowly started to stem, only a handful started to break through the fuzz in Yuuri’s ears at a time. He answered them numbly, on autopilot.

Without the mass of bodies in the way, Yuuri was rewarded with a fuller picture of Victor against the back wall, the stretch of his red and white of his Russian Olympic jacket zipped up over his front and meeting the matching tracksuit pants on his legs. Even casual, he looked beautiful.

Victor never took his eyes off him.

“How does it feel winning against living legend, Victor Nikiforov?”

Yuuri didn’t hear where the question came from, but his mind jolted a little at the sound of Victor’s name, blinking back to reality.

Across the room, he watched Victor’s face freeze.

“Um…”

He stumbled for the words, flinching a little as more cameras clicked around him.

“I-it feels great.” he finally said, shoulders hunching shyly under the unexpected rush of heat curling through him at the sound of Victor’s name. “His performance was amazing, and I-I just got lucky really.”

The words spilled instinctively from his lips and he watched Victor’s eyes darken a shade from the back of the room, mouth thinning slightly. Something that reminded Yuuri of shame burned in the pit of his stomach. He’d felt it the moment he said it, Victor’s disapproval searing into him like a firebrand - because it hadn’t been luck. Yuuri had won fair and square. Today, he’d been  _ better _ than Victor and he had a gold medal to prove it.

“How does it feel competing against a former coach?” another voice asked. “Are you worried Victor knows all your secrets?”

A light ripple of laughter ran through the room.

Yuuri forced a stiff smile.

His eyes dipped shyly down to his twiddling fingers on the table in front of him, heat burning over his cheeks. “Victor and I are still very close.”

He chose his words carefully. He’d never had a boyfriend in the limelight before, but he was pretty sure that only bad things could come out of revealing his and Victor’s newly budding relationship in a press conference for a competition they’d both been competing in. It was practically sleeping with the enemy. It would not go down well – especially with Victor’s legion of fans, no doubt! It had to stay a secret. At least for now. Nobody could know anything.

Not the fact that they’d called each other every day since the wedding in Canada.

Not the fact that Victor had helped him change his routines that had won him a gold medal, right out of his own fingers.

And  _ definitely _ not the fact that they’d snuck into each other’s hotels rooms every night over the last week, falling asleep in each other’s arms to the sound of the others slow, measured breathing and the warmth of skin pressed against bare skin.

Yuuri swallowed a hard lump in his throat. He wasn’t good at keeping secrets; he’d never really needed to before. He wanted to tell the whole world that he had Victor’s love, biting his lip to hold back the dangerous words. New ones broke through instead: “In fact, I…” His mouth moved of its own accord, gaze flickering up to find Victor’s round crystal eyes across the room effortlessly. “I wouldn’t have been able to do this without him.”

Victor’s lips ghosted apart. Yuuri  _ saw _ the Russian’s quiet gasp more than he heard it.

He barely heard the next question – something about the change in his routines from Canada. His response was just as vague. Something about being determined.

He couldn’t stop staring at Victor, wondering what he was thinking behind those swirling crystal orbs of his. Were they happy? Sad? Disappointed? The glitter in the Russian’s gaze was unreadable, somehow both bold and bright yet shimmering with vulnerability at the same time. Yuuri’s heart hammered behind his ribcage the longer he looked, wishing he could just know if he’d said the right thing or not, know what Victor was  _ thinking. _

It didn’t feel right practically lying about their relationship. He’d said they were close – but that was still light years away from the truth! It was more gossip worthy than saying they were simply friends, but Yuuri had figured the latter would have stung more to actually say aloud, from his own lips. He couldn’t do it, but he couldn’t just outright say the truth either. Victor had to know that, right?

_ …right _ ?

“Has your theme changed too?”

Yuuri’s gaze didn’t shift, not even bothering to find the reporter the question had come from. It was the last thing on his mind.

Maybe Victor didn’t know. Maybe he thought that what Yuuri said in front of the press was what Yuuri  _ really  _ said. They hadn’t exactly talked about their feelings yet – they’d just wordlessly surrendered to how naturally they existed together, how homely it felt to be in each other’s arms. Did Victor not know the depths of what Yuuri felt for him? How his sun blotted out the moment Victor stepped out of a room, how his world just shone when the Russian smiled that perfect smile of his… Yuuri’s throat ran dry. Oh god, what if Victor really  _ didn’t _ know?

He remembered what Yurio had said back in Canada, how he’d thought Yuuri had been playing with Victor’s feelings.  _ Messing _ with him, he’d called it. Perhaps that was what it still looked like on the surface, hiding their relationship, sneaking around in hotel rooms…

Yuuri gulped hard.

No wonder Victor looked like that.

His lips moved of their own accord, answering automatically. He knew in half a second it was the right thing to do. “Yes.”

Officially, no.

But everything had changed since Canada. Since Bangkok. Everything. Victor looked at him from across the room with those round glittering eyes that reminded him too much of the day he’d left Hasetsu, and Yuuri never wanted to see that look again, wanted to quash it out of existence. What he felt didn’t look like that. It shouldn’t look that way on Victor either.

His hands closed into tight fists on the conference table, feeling his heartbeat kick up a few notches.  _ Screw it _ . He didn’t care. He wanted the world to know, not just Victor, feeling the words fight their way up his throat of their own accord. He didn’t fight them for a second.

Eyes linked across the room and Yuuri hooked his ankles around the legs of his chair to stop himself vaulting over the table and swallowing the Russian in his arms. It was exactly where Victor belonged. Where he wanted him to stay forever. He’d been fighting his instincts for so long, pretending to himself that his pull to Victor was just superficial, that it would pass… he’d been such an idiot. He couldn’t do it anymore. His world without Victor was just nightmares and pain – not the freedom he’d deluded himself into expecting when he’d hopped on that plane to Thailand. In reality, freedom was in those crystal blue eyes. In that slightly off centre grin and the way Victor’s eyelashes fluttered when he looked at Yuuri, pink dusting over his high cheek bones.

Yuuri felt his own gaze darken, watching Victor’s lips drift apart across the room, waiting.  _ Shoulds _ be damned.

Yuuri knew exactly what he skated for.

“It’s for him.”

Victor’s eyes blew wide.

 

* * *

Yuuri groaned quietly into Victor’s mouth, unable to help himself. Hands groped everywhere; in Yuuri’s hair, over his hip, around his waist, hugging the length of his body against Victor’s, back pressed up firmly against the wall of the supply closet behind him. Victor’s mouth kissed hot and heavy, taking Yuuri’s breath away.

He was more than happy to lose himself to it.

Even if they were just in a supply closet barely a corner away from the rest of the press conference. One unlocked door was all that separated them from a bombardment of cameras.

The thrill of knowing they could get caught at any moment should have scared Yuuri - he knew it should have - but instead, it sent a thrill of excitement through him, body electric to Victor’s touch. It was almost as exciting as when Victor had just  _ ploughed _ into him the second they’d gotten out of the conference, hands clasping either side of Yuuri’s face and drawing him into a desperate kiss before they’d had the presence of mind to move to somewhere a little more ... private.

Dedicating his skating season to Victor was one thing – pictures leaked to the press of him making out with the Russian legend in the middle of a corridor was something else entirely.

Blood thrummed fast through his system with lingering adrenalin, mind high on cloud nine. He couldn’t believe he’d just done that; he’d practically declared his adoration for Victor in front of all the press, dedicating his skating season to the great Victor Nikiforov to his face! His routines dripped with inspiration, joy, and hope – and Yuuri had just confessed he attributed all those things to Victor!

In reality though, it was so much more.

Words couldn’t describe it. It was like the very centre of Yuuri’s world had shifted, like his heart had found a new reason for every beat.  

For Victor – everything was for Victor. His skating. His life. His past. His present. His future. His body. His mind. His heart. His soul. Had he loved Victor like this before his accident? Yuuri didn’t know, and he didn’t care. Emotions slammed into him like a tidal wave when he thought of the Russian – primal and just so, so right – and Yuuri couldn’t deny them any longer. He was made for Victor. He felt at home in his arms.

The closet was dark and smelled of dust but it didn’t matter. Comfort wasn’t what they needed right now – just each other. Victor’s ethereal hair almost seemed to glow in the low light like a halo, silver eyelashes fanning over his cheeks. Yuuri couldn’t imagine letting him go.

The wall ached against his lower back but the warm body pressed flush against his front more than made up for it, feeling each lean curve of Victor’s torso through the thin material of his jacket and costume. It was a heady sensation. Hands fisted in the back of the Russian’s red and white jacket, smothering every slither of space between them and Yuuri deepened the kiss, heart skipping a beat at the way Victor  _ whimpered  _ into his mouth. His hips flexed instinctively in response, thigh slotting between Victor’s.

Victor murmured indecipherable Russian between kisses, peppering them over Yuuri’s cheeks, eyes, and forehead before moving back to his mouth for a bruising kiss. Yuuri had no idea what he was saying but he loved the way he said it, the foreign language sounding melodic on his tongue.

He wanted to be closer, but there was no closer. Not here, not now. The best he could have now was Victor’s hot, hungry mouth on his, kissing him to new heights of bliss. He wanted more –  _ needed _ more. It was like Victor was part of his pulse, part of the air he breathed; a string tied his heart to the Russian’s, pulling them deeper, closer…

Yuuri’s hand slipped into his jacket pocket, fingers fisting around something else that was Victor’s too.

His mouth grazed off Victor’s for half a breath. “Victor…”

The Russian pulled back barely an inch, lips pink and kiss swollen, his silver hair gloriously mussed up from Yuuri’s tangling fingers. He was gasping – he’d never looked more perfect.

Yuuri’s breath caught at the beautiful wreck that was Victor Nikiforov, still processing all that he was willing to give to this man and content in the knowledge that Victor would hold it all dear, keep him safe.

Fingers curled around Victor’s at his waist, manoeuvring the locked hands between the press of their bodies. Victor whined as he leaned back, peeling his chest away from Yuuri’s to make room.

Yuuri bridged the gap, touching his forehead to Victor’s. “I know it’s not as romantic as a Spanish Cathedral,” he breathed into the short space of air between them, wondering if Victor could feel the way his fingers trembled. “But…”

The words trailed off, stuck. Yuuri bit his lip to hold back his groan – not sure if it was one of want or frustration. Victor had said he had never said the words last time; this time, he wanted Victor to hear every syllable. He wanted there to be no mistake as to what he wanted. Yuuri’s eyes fluttered shut, sucking in a few steady breaths before he opened them again. They went right down to his hand, watching the fingers of his fist uncurl but too numb to actually feel the sensation himself, like he was watching somebody else’s hand.

“I-I want…”

Those disconnected fingers pinched the trinket from the palm of his hand, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

He breathed in Victor’s gasp. “A good luck charm?”

The golden ring glowed in the dim space between them, shining against the odds like a beacon. Yuuri glanced up just in time to see a breathless smile flicker over Victor’s mouth. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. He didn’t miss the slight edge to his voice either.

This was why he needed to say it, why Victor needed to hear the exact words. So the same hurt that had speared through them the first time couldn’t happen again.

Yuuri blocked the world out for another moment, closing his eyes again. He felt the wisp of Victor’s bangs tickle against his cheek, rolling his forehead against the Russian’s in a shake of the head. A shaky breath sighed over Yuuri’s lips in response.

“You.” Yuuri clarified, heart swelling in his chest as he said it. He felt Victor’s fingers tighten around his hand. “I want you. Forever…”

It wasn’t eloquent or particularly romantic. Yuuri wasn’t good with words, but he knew the ones he said were nothing but the blunt truth, and he couldn’t go too far wrong by sticking with the truth. Saying it aloud felt strangely liberating, feeling the elastic band strapped around his lungs start to loosen, mind settling back between his shoulders instead of floating high in the clouds, because right there – in his body, Victor’s hand in his – that was exactly where he wanted to be.

His eyes flickered up shyly, watching Victor through his eyelashes. The Russian’s gaze shimmered back at him, alight with adoration that blazed reckless, and wild, and… and it was everything that Yuuri wanted.

He thanked his lucky stars he’d brought the rings with him to the free skate. It had just been his own personal good luck charm, a way to keep Victor close while they were forced to maintain their professional boundaries out there on the rink in front of the world’s cameras. He hadn’t planned this; asking Victor to be his officially hadn’t been on his agenda when he’d woken up that morning.

Now though, he knew he wouldn’t be able to walk out of that stadium unless those rings were firmly back where they belonged – on their ring fingers.

Yuuri’s heart was pounding, blood echoing in his ears. He swallowed hard, feeling his stomach start to twist with nerves. He’d never proposed to anybody before – not that could remember anyway! He didn’t know what to do. And the supply closet certainly wasn’t as nice as that cathedral in Spain, but it was  _ real. _

Victor hadn’t said anything yet. He was just staring, lips ghosting apart in … what? Wonder? Shock? Yuuri just couldn’t tell, seeing a thousand different glitters bolt through the Russian’s glowing gaze.

“Will you?” Yuuri finally gasped into the silence, feeling every breath rasp against his suddenly dry throat. “Please?”

Begging probably wasn’t the best way to convince someone to agree to marry you, but Yuuri was fresh out of rational thoughts in that moment, brain short circuited by the unfairly beautiful man in front of him. The man he’d just asked to stay with him forever.

Victor’s eyes flickered down to the ring between them, widening a fraction like he couldn’t believe it was really there.

His gaze bolted back to Yuuri’s.

In the next breath, he was kissing him again.

Hands clasped either side of Yuuri’s cheeks and pulled his mouth smack against Victor’s, swallowing his ‘ _ umph’  _ of surprise. Yuuri’s eyes shot wide, fingers jolting to keep hold of the ring in his shock.

“Yes.” Victor sighed into Yuuri’s mouth like it was a sacred prayer, eyes fluttered shut in an almost pained expression. “Yes, yes, yes, hai, da, oui,  _ yes _ …”

He whispered it over and over again, words sweet on Yuuri’s skin and spicy with desire. Kisses peppered over Yuuri’s face, smothering every inch of his cheeks and eyelids with adoration. He could feel it in the tender touch of Victor’s mouth, feel the curve of his lips as the smile bloomed over his face. Yuuri sighed out in relief as he felt it, grazing off Victor’s mouth to see the perfect curve of his grin for himself.

It was perfect in its imperfection; Victor’s smile lobbed slightly to the left before his teeth snagged over his lower lip, barely containing the joy bubbling up inside him. 

Yuuri matched it tooth for tooth.

He was only just not giggling himself as he peeled Victor’s right hand from the side of his face and splayed it in front of him, Victor practically bouncing on his toes as his fingers fanned out. Bright blue eyes sparkled down like stars, glittering even in the dull light of the supply closet.

The ring slid over his slim, pale finger effortlessly. Light rolled over the metal as it hit the knuckle, glinting in approval.

Yuuri had to cling to his wits as he handed Victor the second ring, hands fumbling and fingers numb. He swallowed thickly. Watching the way Victor so expertly handled the rings made his heart beat faster in his chest, made it so much more  _ real _ . He still couldn’t believe this was really happening. Delicate fingers fluttered against the turned down palm of Yuuri’s right hand, sending shivers up his spine, and he splayed his fingers helpfully as Victor lined up the ring. 

The metal was warmer than he expected, sliding so easily onto his finger. Yuuri wasn’t sure what he’d expected. The drag of skin, or an icy touch, but it was all smooth and warm, sheathed with care and handled with love.

As soon as the ring bumped against the base of his finger, Yuuri couldn’t help reaching up, threading his fingers in the back of Victor’s hair and pulling him down into a gentle kiss. He kissed softly, engraving every detail of Victor into his memory so he could treasure it forever, so nothing could ever take Victor away from him again.


	12. Chapter 12

_“Come with me.”_ Victor had said, hands clasping Yuuri’s between his and bright blue eyes aglow. _“Come with me to Russia.”_

At the time - in the Parisian hotel lobby - Yuuri had just stared. Of course, he hadn’t said yes. How could he? He just let Yakov whisk Victor away for his flight to St Petersburg, watching him go longingly, and half wishing he could just switch his later flight to Bangkok for an accompanying ticket to Russia like Victor wanted.

But he couldn’t.

He just … couldn’t.

He wasn’t even fully sure what was stopping him. Phichit certainly wasn’t guilt tripping him into staying in Thailand. There was a rink in St Petersburg. And more importantly there was Victor; the man who’d managed to guide him to a gold medal performance after less than a week of just helpful tips and tricks in France. What if he really did coach Yuuri properly? Maybe the gold didn’t have to be a fluke. Maybe Yuuri really could win the final under Victor’s tutelage…

He hadn’t been sure. He still wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything; spending more time than he cared to admit staring down at the gold ring on his finger and wondering about the man wearing its match half way across the world.

The second he’d thrown himself into Victor’s arms at the Russian airport – cold already biting into his bones – he knew he’d made the right decision. Victor’s arms were home, wherever in the world they were.

They fell into a rhythm quickly; jogging to the rink together, grabbing coffee at a local café, Victor cooking while Yuuri tidied and Makkachin nipped at both their heels playfully back at the apartment. It was just so _easy_. And St Petersburg was beautiful. Blisteringly cold with an endless fall of fluttering white snow, but Yuuri found it hard to complain when Victor would pull him close to keep him warm, blowing hot air over his icy fingertips. He loved every second.

The only catch was the skating.

It had taken a lot of yelling in Yakov’s office before Yuuri had been granted permission to train at the Russian rink – and even then Yuuri didn’t miss the curt looks Yakov shot his way.

They rivalled even Yurio’s glares, burning into Yuuri from across the rink so much so that Yuuri was almost surprised they didn’t leave scorch marks. He understood – at least, he thought he did. There was a myriad of reasons for Yakov to hate him, whether it was from taking his prize skater away in the first place – even though Yuuri couldn’t remember that one – or the way he’d broken Victor’s heart when he’d left for Bangkok, leaving Victor behind helplessly shattered for the Russian coach to pick up the pieces. As time went on though, he quickly found a new reason.

“Yuuri!” Victor called across the St Petersburg rink one day as Yuuri clapped down from a shaky quad Salchow, barely keeping his footing. “You need to control your free leg more on your take off! If you bend your ... here, let me show you-”

Before Yuuri could even draw another breath Victor had dropped his pose, turned tail and was skating over to Yuuri like it was his life’s mission. Yuuri’s heart plummeted like a stone in water – Yakov glared daggers across the rink, bearing into Yuuri with a glower that felt like it was melting the very ice around his skates. His face burned instinctively, shoulders hunching with shame. It wasn’t the first time Victor had abandoned his own practise to help Yuuri.

Eyes followed Victor across the rink, Mila and Georgi pausing their conversation to watch him pass another countless time. Their gaze flickered between him and Yakov, eyebrows scrunched together.

Yuuri’s shame stung all the deeper when they looked to him, the same thoughts as before inevitably running through their minds. It wasn’t his practise. Why was Victor abandoning his own training for the sake of Yuuri? Again. It happened more often than Yuuri cared to think about in the mere week he’d been in St Petersburg. He hadn’t seen Victor stay through a whole practice since he’d arrived in Russia - whether it be helping Yuuri skate, talking to him over the boards, texting him while Yuuri was at the apartment even…

Blood pulsed impossibly loud in his ears under the pressure, stomach twisting with guilt. He didn’t mean to distract Victor - he wasn’t asking for help! He was just skating lazily amongst himself while he waited for Victor to finish, trying to be as in the background as he could possibly be. Obviously, he hadn’t been subtle enough.

Victor was a vision in black as his knee flexed and he span backwards into a quad Salchow, a tad lower than what Yuuri had come to know from Victor’s old skating videos. He still landed with a flourish though, the sharp clack of blades smoothly hitting the ice snapping Yuuri out of his wallow of guilt.

Victor’s megawatt beam shone like the sun as he twisted round out of his spin, bright eyes finding Yuuri effortlessly.

“See.”

Yuuri’s fingers tugged awkwardly at his long, dark sleeve, averted eyes tracing the criss-cross patterns dancing along the ice beneath him. “Um, thanks. I think I’ve got it-”

“Try it again.”

Yuuri blinked up. “What-”

“Try it again.” Victor said again, bracing his hands on his hips and digging his toe pick stubbornly into the ice. “Show me. Let me see.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri caught Yakov fold his arms across the rink. He could feel those cold eyes narrowing, daring him. Yuuri swore bitterly in the back of his head; Victor was supposed to be busy being coached, not coaching himself! And with the Grand Prix Final just a fortnight away…

Yuuri swallowed hard, a lump sticking in his throat. The steely look in Victor’s eyes wasn’t open for discussion, his gaze firm and unrelenting.

It was only after Yuuri had settled in Russia that he’d realised how much of a tough coach Victor was, pushing Yuuri above and beyond what Celestino had ever demanded of him. Celestino had listened to Yuuri, tried to coax him out of his shell and work more at Yuuri’s pace, working with him. Victor did not. Victor had higher standards. Every night Yuuri crawled back to the apartment with aching limbs, wondering how he would possibly be able to drag himself to another gruelling session the next day. Every day he did though. And he couldn’t argue with the results. Just a week of Victor’s tweaking had pushed him to a gold medal in France after all! He couldn’t ignore that.

But winning at Victor’s expense, while he ignore his own training… no, that wasn’t what Yuuri wanted at all.

Honestly, Victor’s confidence in him was enough. It was intense. It made Yuuri feel drunk with confidence, knowing Victor believed in him, trusted in him, had more faith in Yuuri than Yuuri could ever have of himself. It made him push himself harder, feel like he could fly when he jumped, feel like the most graceful ballerina when he span. He felt invincible. It was intoxicating.

The weight of Yakov’s glare killed the sensation now though, Yuuri wanting nothing less than to be on the ice in that moment, let alone jump.

“Vitya!” The coach’s gruff voice called. “Get back over here, _now!”_

Yuuri flinched for Victor, blood pooling instinctively on his cheeks.

It just made a small smirk tweak at Victor’s lips, eyes rolling dramatically. He barely even looked over his shoulder. “In a minute, Yakov!”  

He was too calm, Yuuri thought to himself - especially as something else snapped across the rink at him, this time in Russian. The words twisted around Yakov’s tongue, sounding harsh and curt enough for Yuuri to know better than to ask for a translation. The way Victor’s eyes darkened dangerously told him he didn’t want to know.

More Russian barked across the rink and Yuuri didn’t miss the way Mila and Georgi both just _looked_ at each other, eyebrows raised in shock. Yuuri’s tongue darted out to wet his suddenly dry lips. He wished more than ever he’d crammed at least some Russian in before he’d moved.

Victor’s expression soured. His lips pressed together in a tight line, down turning in the corners. Yuuri wanted to kiss it away, itching to touch Victor and try and take the sting off Yakov’s words somehow.

It wasn’t what Victor wanted though. There was only one thing that would make Victor happier, what he was waiting to see.

Yuuri sighed.

And pushed off with his skates.

Every glide felt like another shovel into digging his own grave, Yakov’s intense gaze following his every step. He tried to push it from his mind, focus on the warm glow of Victor’s gaze instead, flexing his knee a touch deeper as he braced for the jump…

The difference was immediate; rotation after rotation flew through the air, whipping around him as he tucked his arms close and his feet crossed. It felt higher than before, smoother, better. Pride surged through him the second his skates clacked back down on the ice, so much steadier and surer than moments ago.

“Nice, Yuuri.” Victor nodded his approval as Yuuri span back around, one hand curled under his chin as he shifted his weight onto one leg. “I was also thinking about changing that transition in the second jump of your short skate. What do you think?”

Yuuri’s eyes flickered to Yakov over Victor’s shoulder. He was checking his watch. That wasn’t good.

“Um, Victor don’t you think you should-”

“I mean, you’ll do well enough without it.” Victor waved off, an edge to his usually sparkling blue eyes. “But a few extra points can’t hurt, _da_?”

Yuuri frowned.

Something was wrong. The stiff note to Victor’s voice, the slight pinch in his expression… where was the joy? Where was the smile?

He didn’t get a chance to ask before a flash of movement caught his attention from across the rink. He swore quietly under his breath - Yakov was skating over.

Yuuri groaned hard, dropping his head into his hands. That was it - he’d gone too far. He’d distracted Victor too much and now Yakov was coming to take matters into his own hands, to yell at him, remind him what an awful boyfriend he was, kick him off the rink-

“Victor-”

It was the only word Yuuri caught before the Russian took over. It was enough for another miserable whine to slip his lips. _Victor_ , Yakov had said. Not _Vitya_ anymore. Yakov must really be mad.

He didn’t understand a word of the exchange as fiery Russian bounced off his ears, both men just as bitter and angry as the other. Peeking through his fingers, Yuuri caught Victor’s hands curl into fists at his sides, sweaty bangs flying out of his face as his head jerked at the rest of the rink.

That made Yuuri’s heart freeze, sucking in a gasp. Oh God, was Yuuri really getting kicked off after all? His stomach curled, fingers rolling into fists against his cheek. His round russet eyes watched over his hands, scanning for more clues as to what exactly was being said. He couldn’t afford to lose the rink now - not two weeks before the final! It would be like Sochi all over again, with a botched Final, botched season, shredded morale… Yakov could end his career. Yuuri hadn’t meant to aggravate him. He hadn’t even meant to distract Victor! He’d just been skating…

At the first catch of Yuuri’s breath, Victor froze instantly.

Whatever words he’d been about to spit at his coach died on his tongue, face snapping to Yuuri so fast his bangs whipped through the air and stuck to his flushed cheek with a slap. He barely noticed it, round crystal eyes locked on Yuuri.

He sucked in a sharp breath of his own, Yuuri able to see the quick rise of his chest, the exact curve of his plump pink lips as the air whistled past.

Then they pressed shut, eyes narrowing.

Victor glanced curtly out of the corner of his eye towards Yakov.

“Look what you’ve done.” he mutters bitterly before pushing off with his skates, grating to a halt in front of Yuuri with a small spray of ice.

Warm hands - gloveless and bare - cupped Yuuri’s hot cheeks, gently prising his own tight fists down away from his face. Hot tears had already started pricking in the corners of his eyes, chest tight and breaths short. Too short. A small, unconvincing smile tweaked Victor’s lips, warm crystal blue gaze leaning in until it was all Yuuri could see. Somehow, it wasn’t as comforting as usual.

Tender, soft Russian murmured from Victor’s lips, so very different to the harsh words they’d curled around just seconds before. Yuuri didn’t care. He just clung to the comforting tone of Victor’s voice, embracing the way his heart fluttered in response.

“Vitya, you’re being _reckless_.”

Victor’s eyes hardened. It was all Yuuri could see. “Not now, Yakov.”

“Perhaps a distraction would help?” the coach pressed anyway, like he hadn’t heard Victor at all. “Like watching you _skate_.”

Yuuri’s next gasp caught on the lump lodged in his throat and his eyes wedged shut just a fraction too late - he’d still seen the way Victor’s eyes darkened with annoyance, mouth twisting into a grimace.

A heavy measured sighed washed over Yuuri’s mouth.

“Yakov, I don't think-”

Fingers reached up, hooking around Victor’s wrist beside Yuuri’s face. The Russian shut himself up in a heartbeat, and Yuuri dared peel his eyes open again, glad to find the irritation temporarily washed away with glittering surprise.

“V-Victor.” He rasped out, fingers tightening around the Russian’s wrist. “ _Please_.”

A pretty splash of red dusted over Victor’s cheeks and Yuuri’s breath hitched again - not sure if it was more the anxiety or the _absolute beauty_ in front of him that was more to blame.

He barely heard smooth swish of skates, too obsessed with the way Victor’s eyes shimmered - almost guiltily. Why was Victor looking at him like that? Like he was apologising… Yuuri’s brow furrowed with his next gasp, confused.

A large hand thumped down on his shoulder.

“I'll stay with him.”

Yakov’s voice was surprisingly quiet, a tone so uncharacteristically soft that took Yuuri a second to realise it was the coach talking in the first place.

Victor’s lips pressed together, clearly biting back his protest. After half a beat-

“Fine.”

The one word was curt and crisp - enough to make Yuuri wince. He’d never heard Victor sound so terse before…

Victor’s lips brushed over Yuuri’s before he turned and skated away, all too light, all too fleeting. Yuuri wanted more. That one stiff graze of a kiss wasn’t enough for him. His mouth chased after Victor’s even as the Russian swept his lips away, leaning forward into the chilly, empty air in front of him that misted with the fog of his own ragged breaths.

In a flash of silver, Victor was suddenly half way around the rink. He skated fast - legs gliding over the ice like a dream, perfect and smooth in their strokes, and … and just a little rushed. Like he couldn’t wait to get it over with.

Yuuri frowned, air hitching so sharply in his throat it made his eyes water.

“Count the jumps.”

_What?_

The words gruffed hard in his ear, but somehow it was the most comforting thing he could find in that moment. Firmness. Steadiness. Something reliable to cling to. It was more reassuring than Victor’s fast forwarded routine, something about it just… _off._

Yuuri couldn’t quite place what it was.

He did what Yakov said instead. The double combination jump was first. Victor landed with a sharp clack of skates on ice.

_One._

“Out loud.”

It was like Yakov could read his mind, Yuuri trying to ignore the chill rolling down his spin. Was that even from Yakov - or was that from the slight lug in Victor’s turn? That wasn’t right…

Yuuri’s chest ached, throat feeling raw from the ice chipped air on the rink, but he forced his voice out anyway. He didn’t sound like he remembered. It was deeper, rougher - more air hitched at that, heart skipping a beat. He managed one number in English before his oxygen short brain defaulted to Japanese, blinking his watery eyes fast to make sure he didn’t miss one of Victor’s jumps. He didn’t want to answer to Yakov if he missed a number.

“ _San.”_

His voice sounded different in Japanese, strange to his own ears.

Victor landed another quad, silver hair whipping around his face with a flourish that looked...short. Unfinished. Victor wasn’t following the movements through properly. Why not?

“ _Shi.”_

The hand on his shoulder softened ever so slightly, and Yuuri felt his ribcage lift along with the pressure, filling with oxygen. His eyes widened, body singing with the relief the extra air brought.

Maybe Yakov didn’t hate him after all.

“ _Go.”_

Yuuri’s lips parted eagerly as he watched Victor build up for his next jump, watching Victor’s body start to relax, limbs flowing like water. A small smile tweaked at Yuuri’s lips; that was better. That was the effortless skating he expected from Victor. The next number was on the tip of his tongue, just waiting for that clean slice of blade cutting through ice…

It never came.

Instead, came a jagged scramble. The ice hissed beneath Victor as his skates struggled to find purchase, body jerking forward in overbalance and hand slapping heavily onto the rink’s surface. His legs trembled with the effort of keeping the rest of him from following.

Yuuri stopped breathing entirely.

Victor was upright in a heartbeat - but not before Yuuri had seen the taut grimace stretched over his usually perfect, carefree features. He forced himself into a sloppy spin.

The blood drained from Yuuri’s face, a cold washing over him that had nothing to do with the chill of the ice rink. His eyes glazed over with horror, not wanting to see anymore. He was afraid of what he might see now, not entranced. He’d never seen Victor do that before. In all the videos he’d watched, in all the performances, in all the practise sessions in France… he’d never seen Victor do anything but nail a jump, never a hand down on the ice.

Until now.

The air behind Yuuri stiffened. He could feel the same mortification that froze his composure to its core oozing off of Yakov, mirrored on the other skater’s expressions too. They were all shocked.

And rightly so; Victor had put _a hand down_ on the ice. Anybody else, Yuuri wouldn’t have blinked, would have thought it was just a practise, stumbles happened. But Victor wasn’t just anybody else, he was a five time consecutive world champion - he didn’t stumble. The reactions around the rink proved that, stunned, horrified silence filling the air.

Victor turned on his heel too soon - ignoring the rest of his routine - gliding back to Yuuri with his eyes low. Silver bangs hid one entirely. The one he could see was so dark it sent shivers up Yuuri’s spine.

He skated straight past Yuuri, avoiding his gaze.

“Now, like I was saying…”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri woke with a gasp, chest tight and throat aching. The bedroom was dark, moonlight peeking through the gap in the curtains and Makkachin letting out a yelp as he was disturbed, nuzzling closer to Victor. He didn’t find any comfort there though; the Russian stirred with a groan, hand rubbing at his eyes.

“ _Yuuri_?”

Victor’s voice was still thick with sleep, hand running over his face as he propped himself up on his elbow. His silver hair glinted in the moonlight.

For once, Yuuri didn’t stop to admire Victor, still battling the invisible elastic band closing tight around his chest instead. He hitched another breath, shirt clinging to his skin through a thin layer of cold sweat. He whimpered. What time was it? He reached for his phone on the bedside table, and it was only then he realised that his fingers were shaking. They paused mid-air, illuminated in the dull glow of the starlight bleeding from the window.

Something gentle touched the back of his shoulder.

He jumped in surprise, an ungodly noise flying from his mouth. His wide russet eyes bolted over his shoulder - right into Victor’s sleep hazed ones. Pale fingertips reached out to him through the darkness.

“Yuuri?” Victor pushed himself up from leaning on his elbow, bedsheets falling away from his torso as he straightened up. His pale skin seemed to glow in the low light. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, brow furrowed. “Was it the nightmares again?”

The fingers bumped against the back of Yuuri’s shoulder blade smoothed over the ridge of his shoulder, smothering the chilled skin with his warm palm. It should have been comforting. It should have helped. Yuuri knew it should have - he wanted it to! But the second Victor leaned into him, shuffling closer on the bed, something cracked inside him.

A sob squeaked out of him and Yuuri bowed forward quickly, fingers delving into his hair. His face pressed into the dip in the sheets between his knees.

He felt Victor stiffen beside him; he wasn’t asleep anymore. “Yuuri.”

His voice was firmer this time, almost commanding. The hand over Yuuri’s shoulder pressed down a little harder, drawing Yuuri’s attention.

He half wanted to ignore it. Yuuri half wanted to just bury himself into his sheets until sleep claimed him back again so he didn’t have to keep thinking, didn’t have to keep reliving the dream. He was anything but sleepy now though, wide awake - and Victor was gently persistent behind him.

Yuuri twisted at the waist and half tackled Victor. His wet face buried into Victor’s chest, not brave enough to blink up into those too-soft blue eyes again. Not after what he’d just seen in his dreams. He couldn’t. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Victor’s waist and held on tight like Victor might slip away into thin air if he dared let go.

Victor just froze.

He stiffened hard as Yuuri threw himself at him, arms tensing straight at his sides and a choked off gasp cutting off in his throat in surprise. After a moment, a hand smoothed over Yuuri’s back.

It did little to comfort him.

“It’s okay,” breathed in Yuuri’s ear, barely louder than a whisper. After a moment, warm arms wrapped around him, drawing him in closer. “You’re _safe_. You’re okay.”

Sobs hiccupped in Yuuri’s throat and he felt the heat radiating off his face, curling further into Victor instinctively. The arms tightened around him. It wasn’t anywhere near as comforting as it should have been though.

Yuuri brought a hand to Victor’s chest, fingers curling over where Victor’s heart lay. “It wasn’t me that was hurt this time,” he said quietly.

_Beep… beep ...beep…_

He’d almost been able to forget the bleep of the heart monitor machine that had haunted him before Russia, but everything had all come flooding back all too quickly. Worse than that though was the drawn out grate of skates _slipping_ along ice instead of gliding, the hard thud of a body slamming down. Bones cracked, red splashed, pain flaring white hot…

Only this time, it wasn’t him falling.

A shaky breath on his lips, Yuuri sat back on his heels and peeled himself away from Victor, hands on the Russian’s shoulders holding him at arm’s length. Two bright blue stars shined at him through the darkness.

“It was you,” Yuuri said, voice only just not trembling. “I saw you fall.”

His voice squeaked on the last note, but he was almost beyond caring at the way Victor’s eyes widened through the low light of the bedroom. Something vulnerable glittered in their crystal depths.

The botched jump from Victor’s earlier practise was still all too fresh in Yuuri’s mind, rolling over and over again until it was impossible for him to ever forget. He could remember the exact tremble in Victor’s thighs holding him from crashing to the ice entirely, had felt the graze marring over Victor’s palm when they’d held hands over dinner. It was horrible. Victor faltering wasn’t something that had even crossed Yuuri’s mind until it had happened, right there in front of him.

Victor clearly hadn’t been in the mood to talk about it when they’d gotten home. Maybe that had made it worse, spinning it restlessly round and round in Yuuri’s mind with nothing to appease it.

Even now, Yuuri didn’t _want_ to talk about it.

Nor did Victor.

His eyes flashed with panic the moment the words left Yuuri’s lips, like a deer caught in headlights. He was just as scared as Yuuri was - for different reasons maybe. Victor’s mouth fell open, but no words came out, lost before they reached his lips. After a moment, he swallowed hard. And reached for Yuuri.

Yuuri didn’t fight him as Victor crushed him to his chest again, arms winding around the Russian’s waist and closing his eyes against the mad thump of Victor’s racing heart beating through his breast.

“You can’t do it.” Yuuri mumbled into Victor’s collar bone, burying his wet eyes into the Russian’s warm skin. “You can’t skate _and_ coach. You can’t...”

His voice squeaked traitorously on the last note, more tears flooding through to stain the smooth expanse of Victor’s chest. Victor’s arms just tightened around him. If he minded the tears, he didn’t say anything.

A ragged breath sighed over Yuuri’s shoulder.

“I can’t leave you.”

Air whistled over the tips of Yuuri’s hair with Victor’s breath as the Russian combed his fingers through the hair at the back of Yuuri’s head, cradling him close.

“I-” Victor cut himself off. Yuuri could just imagine the way his teeth caught on his lower lip, hearing the air hitch quietly in Victor’s lungs, and feeling the way his body shifted as his teary eyes angled up to the ceiling. “I can’t risk you falling again.” he finally went on. His voice was weak and brittle - like splintered glass just waiting to shatter. “I almost lost you last time.”

_Last time._

Yuuri tensed in Victor’s arms. He didn’t need the reminder.

They’d only just started getting back to where they had been in their relationship before the accident, finally finding some semblance of normality. Yuuri could still remember the confusion when he’d first woken up though, still remembered the stark unfamiliarity every time he had looked at Victor. It felt strange now; Victor was the person he was closest to as of late, but Yuuri could still remember when he was nothing more than a stranger to him. He remembered the hurt that had flashed through Victor’s eyes in that hospital room, the smile he’d forced on his face even though everything was so very far from okay… Yuuri couldn’t go back to that. He couldn’t put Victor through that again.

But he also didn’t want to be the one on the other end of the blank stare. After everything, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what he would do if those aquamarine eyes didn’t recognise him anymore.

In reality, he knew it was unlikely.

Even if Victor fell, he might not hit his head. Even if he hit his head, he might not have any amnesia. Even if he had amnesia, he might not cut out Yuuri as specifically as he himself had been erased.

But he might.

And that was too much of a risk in itself.

Yuuri shrunk against Victor’s chest, warmth of the Russian’s arms swallowing him. He could still feel the rough edges of the grazes on Victor’s palms lightly scratching his skin, a fresh reminder – that the risk of Victor falling was very much real.

Yuuri’s jumps were improving, but Victor’s were getting worse. Yuuri might keep his footing, but Victor was quickly losing his. He didn’t want to see Victor fall. He didn’t want to see him hurt. He knew what it was like, how _bad_ it could be… he couldn’t wish that on anybody, least of all Victor. But if he kept stealing him away from his training like he was, Victor so intent on Yuuri’s safety that he completely forwent his own – a fall was exactly where they were heading.

Of course, Victor didn’t care about that though. Victor was thinking exactly what Yuuri was thinking; that he would do anything to avoid seeing the one he loved hurt, even at his own expense. Yuuri guessed seeing the love of your life sprawled out on the ice – unconscious and bloodied – was already once too many.

The image of Victor broken and still on the ice was still too fresh in Yuuri’s mind from his nightmare, shuddering a breath that made his blood crawl.

“Is that why we’re not doing any quad flips this season?”

Yuuri wasn’t sure what made him ask it – but he couldn’t take it back once he had. He already knew the answer. Of course, Victor didn’t want to push him to do the same move that had nearly caved his skull in the year before. It must bring back harrowing memories for the Russian, reminding him of the man he loved splayed out unconscious on the ice pillowed on a small pool of blood.

But he had still asked, and he wasn’t sure why. Heat curled painfully around his heart, choking it inside his chest. It reminded him of rage.

Yuuri frowned at himself – was he angry at Victor?

He blinked up at Victor through his eyelashes before he could figure it out, fluttering the tears clear for a moment. He was surprised to see Victor frowning down at him.

“I never put it in before,” he said.

Yuuri’s frown deepened.

“What?”

His back straightened, leaning back a fraction in Victor’s arms. The Russian’s expression didn’t falter, held its slightly puzzled pinch. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he finally answered.

“You did.”

Yuuri felt his stone heart drop to his stomach.

“You couldn’t land it well even in practise, but you…” Victor’s eyes fluttered shut, drawing in another shaky breath. “You insisted. And I wanted to see it, so I let it happen.”

The words ghosted through Yuuri’s brain, but it took a second moment to take in what they were actually saying. It wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d expected to hear that Victor had wanted to push Yuuri’s limits as his coach. That he had wanted to have Yuuri do his signature jump as some sort of scandalous move for the audience. That it had all been Victor’s idea somehow, because how could Yuuri have dared attempt a jump like that off of his own ambition?

“I should have done more to stop you,” Victor went on, voice strained. “It was too dangerous of me. You couldn’t land it enough in training. I-I should have known-”

“You wouldn’t have been able to stop me.”

The words spilled from Yuuri’s lips – anything to stop having to hear Victor beat himself up more, riddling himself with guilt. It wasn’t his fault. It definitely wasn’t his fault.

“Even if you had said no, you wouldn’t have been able to stop me once I was out on the ice.” Yuuri went on, stumbling for something to soothe Victor’s ‘should have’s. “I would have jumped anyway. You know I would have.”

He knew the moment that he said it that it was true, eyes dropping down to Victor’s chest as he _felt_ Victor peel his glittering gaze open again. Yuuri wasn’t sure he could bear to see Victor so broken like that, so vulnerable.

He knew what he was like. If he wanted to do a quad flip for Victor, he would do a quad flip for Victor – practised or not. Perhaps deep down, Victor had known that too. Perhaps that was why he had agreed to the jump, just so they could actually train for it, prepare rather than leave Yuuri with nothing but his willpower to carry him through. Victor’s training may have even saved Yuuri from a worse, more reckless injury.

Yuuri’s fingers curled against Victor’s chest, biting his nails into the flesh of his palm. Victor’s arms just tightened around him, the cool skin of his chest soothing the shameful burn quickly spreading over Yuuri’s cheeks.

“If I can’t stop you, I’m at least going to make sure you can’t fall,” Victor said, his fingers digging into Yuuri’s shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. “Then everything will be okay.”

Yuuri didn’t answer.

Because now he was seeing Victor’s lifeless body on the ice again, flashing through his mind while his eyes stared vacant across the darkened bedroom. Bones cracked out at unnatural angles, those aquamarine eyes Yuuri so loved blank and sightless. A sharp wisp of air cut through his lungs, body going numb. He couldn’t let Victor fall. Everything was not okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little late!
> 
> As if moving house and preparing for an upcoming exam wasn't time consuming and stressful enough - the internet wouldn't work! Just perfect...
> 
> Btw, not sure if this story will actually end with 13 chapters or if there will be one or two more. I'm not sure. They do not exist yet. We'll find out when they do.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maaaaaybe subject to slight edit later because I am posting this super late with zero proof read.

Two weeks was not enough time. The final loomed faster than Yuuri could have dared to dread and before he knew it, he was back in France, blinking once again at the blinding lights flashing around the stadium. Beside him, Victor waved at the crowds, broad smile on his face and sparkle dancing in his gaze.

Yuuri wished he could be so relaxed.

Instead, his fingers drummed nervously against the boards, twisting at the waist like he hadn’t already done his stretches a hundred times over already. He was skating next, just minutes away.

He should be fine. They’d trained, practised to within an inch of their lives, but Yuuri could feel the nerves seizing up his muscles no matter how much stretching or moving he did to try and keep them loose. Today of all days, he couldn’t panic. He had to keep a clear head, skate the way Victor believed he could, get that smile back…

The crowd roared and Yuuri jumped. Otabek’s scores. Yuuri watched with a tightening knot in his stomach as the Kazakhstan’s name shot up the leader board into second place, a handful of points behind Yurio.

It would be a tough competition.

A hand smooth over the back of Yuuri’s shoulders, warm breath sighing over the back of the shell of his ear.

“You’ll be amazing, Yuuri.”

The thick Russian accent purred over his shoulder, words sinking into his skin like warm oil, somehow soothing the tension curling in his muscles. Yuuri sighed into it, savouring the warmth coursing through him. His heartbeat wracked up a few notches – it made him feel alive.

He could do this.

He barely heard his name ring out around the arena, blood running thick in his ears and muffling the rest of the world around him.

A cheer rose up from the crowd. The announcer was introducing his piece. Cameras flashed. All eyes in the stadium settled on him. Yuuri didn’t have a mind for any of it though – he only noticed the soft fingertips on his shoulder, the voice murmuring in his ear, the chill of the ring on his finger … his eyes fluttered shut, enjoying the way his rib cage so easily expanded with his next breath. The air was cool against his lungs, soothing the hard thump of his heartbeat between them.

More words breathed over his shoulder but Yuuri didn’t hear what they were saying. The tone didn’t sound English. He didn’t care. He just let the silky flow of Victor’s voice wash over him, sparking a new emotion in the pit of his gut – drive. It overwhelmed the panic.

Yuuri pushed off on the ice.

A fresh chill brushed over his face and tousled his loosely combed back hair, heart aching as Victor’s touch glided off him. It clenched tighter with every step.

His body felt numb, fingertips tingling with a euphoria he couldn’t explain as he took to the centre of the ice. The feeling of Victor’s tender touch still ghosted over his body, raising goose bumps on his skin beneath the paper thin shimmering material of his costume. Lights danced off the crystals in the haphazard splashes of colour draped from his right shoulder, like fireworks against a black canvas. Colours rained down like droplets of water, blending into the waistline of his slim black trousers.

The stadium felt huge from the middle of the rink. Endless bodies packed the stands, broken every now and then by camera flashes, waving flags, and handwritten signs. The weight of tens of thousands of eyes bore down on Yuuri’s shoulders, stomach twisting. He sucked in a deep breath, gaze falling lower.

It settled on the rink edge, and the Russian beauty stood there watching him from behind tousled, silvery bangs.

They brushed aside as Victor held his fist up to his mouth, lips grazing along the knuckles of his right hand. For a moment, Yuuri frowned, floored by Victor’s intense gaze. What was he … _oh_. Yuuri’s eyes widened as he realised, lips ghosting apart. Victor kissed his engagement ring, eyes sparkling like stars across the ice.

Yuuri didn’t realise his hands were shaking until he brought his right one to his mouth, pressing his lips to the cool gold bangs along the base of his ring finger in return. His gaze held Victor’s, held their promise.

_For him._

His heart beat in time with the opening notes of his music stringing up around the stadium, feeling the rhythm pulse through his veins. He was going to give this performance his everything.

His muscles pulled and pushed gracefully, limbs gliding through the air and blades cutting cleanly through the ice with every stride he took. He could do this. He knew he could – he’d done it enough times in practise, all but perfect! It was no guarantee though, he knew, ghost of his Grand Prix final track record haunting the back of his mind. The first time, he’d flunked. The second time, he’d crashed. The third? He couldn’t fail again, not with Victor putting so much faith in him.

It drove on every glide, every spin, every jump. It was all for Victor – to show the world how much Victor meant to him. The thought strengthened every slight wobble, every tremble of his muscles fighting to keep him upright. With Victor behind him, Yuuri couldn’t fail. He couldn’t fall.

He could hear some of the fans singing along to his music – not quite as catchy as J.J’s annoying theme tune, but still popular with his home crowd. Especially after his gold in Paris. Everyone had high expectations of him, cheering him on, believing in him. He could just imagine his family back home, all crowded around the TV set, watching him skate with round eager eyes and big smiles.

The thought warmed his heart, gave him renewed strength as he moved into the second half of his routine.

Yuuri suddenly blinked, frown digging into his brow.

The second half – where he’d fallen last year.

His knee wobbled hard as he slapped down from a complex combination jump, whimper bleeding through his lips as he just barely kept himself upright.

He could hear the slight hitch in cheer hushing over the crowd, all obviously sharing the same thought. Yuuri didn’t dare linger on it in his own mind. He wasn’t going to fall. Victor believed he wasn’t going to fall, so he wasn’t going to fall. His muscles tensed, holding him firm.

His heart pounded with resolve as he forced himself on, sighing a breath to relax his shoulders as he realised how tense they were. Silver flashed through his blurring vision. The world was a clash of colours as he threw himself into a sitting spin, but silver was the most reassuring one, reminding him of those bright blue eyes that simply shone when Victor smiled, the tentative squeeze of his fingers before his hand fully scrunched with Yuuri’s, the gasping hitch in his breath whenever they kissed, sighing over Yuuri’s lips…

Yuuri glided smoothly into his next move, past the point of no return. He’d made it further than last year’s skate. A small glimmer of pride rippled through him, but he didn’t dare let it bloom into anything stronger. He still hadn’t finished yet, precious seconds remaining for him to somehow screw up if he dared get complacent.

Every tick of the music seemed to beat on for a lifetime, Yuuri counting down until the end. One more jump, one more spin, one more arc of his arm … he ticked them off his list one by one in his head, relief warming his blood with every execution.

He could do this.

A smile stretched over his face as the last bouncing beats of the song finally rang out, Yuuri’s toe pick digging into the ice to hold him still. Air rasped through his lungs. Stray strands of hair wisped around his sweaty face as he froze in his ending pose, gaze following the length of his arm and outstretched fingertips to ... to Victor.

He was smiling.

It lifted his pink cheeks, pinched the corners of his bright blue eyes, leaned ever so slightly to the left the way it did when he laughed.

Yuuri’s breath caught, tears welling in his eyes – Victor was _really_ smiling. His lip quivered as his arm dropped back to his side, muscles starting to throb and ache with exertion. Yuuri didn’t care, ignoring the pull along the back of his legs as he pushed himself towards his coach and fiancée, drawn to that beautiful expression framed with outstretched arms.

He threw himself into them faster than he should have, air knocked out of him as his chest slapped against Victor’s. Victor didn’t complain, arms closing tight around Yuuri.

Yuuri felt the shaky sigh of Victor’s breath glide past him, felt the firmness of the Russian’s wide cheeks against his neck. His arms were tight around him, holding him ridiculously close as he stepped off the ice.

Yuuri only realised how badly his legs were trembling when he staggered back, hip bumping into the boards as his muscles started to give way beneath him. There was no way he’d be able to lean down and put his skate guards on, just no way his body could support him like that after throwing so much into his performance on the ice.

His heart nearly stopped in his chest as Victor peeled himself away from his front and dropped down to his knees, practically sliding down his body. Yuuri forgot how to breathe. The Russian still beamed up at him as he lifted Yuuri’s skates one by one, sliding the skate guards in place with the quietest click, hands caressing Yuuri’s legs like they were the most wonderful thing he’d ever had the grace to touch.

Yuuri wasn’t sure what happened next – all he knew was that Victor on his knees, looking at him like that, ended way too quickly. Cameras, questions, the kiss and cry… it was all a whirlwind, blank and dull compared to the way Victor’s eyes had glittered at him from between his knees. Even the way his name soared up the ranks barely fluttered his heart, settling firmly between Otabek’s and Yurio’s into second on the leader board. Not even half a point separated him from the young Russian.

He was still catching his breath while Victor slipped his own skate guards off at the rink edge, flicking the bangs out of his eyes with a jerk of his head. Yuuri’s fingers drummed nervously against the boards, the final cheer from the crowd at the announcer’s boom of his name sounding distant and faded.

The lights from around the French arena seemed to bounce off each silver strand of Victor’s hair like starlight, air thick with anticipation. Everybody had come to see Victor after all. His was the last skate of the day. Victor was the returning champion, the god amongst mortals – only Yuuri got to see the man behind it, see the struggles that he overcame to build his renowned performances. They were a little too fresh this time though, a little too close to the final for Yuuri’s liking.

The last week had gone better than the one before it. Victor had knuckled down and worked on his routines like a man possessed, stumbles and hitches slowly ironed out day by day. He couldn’t fend off both Yakov _and_ Yuuri after all. But there was always a risk. Always a chance. Yuuri knew that better than most, wishing more than anything that he didn’t.

Adrenaline still ran thick and fast through Yuuri’s bloodstream from his own skate, but it only served to fuel his nerves for Victor into an even greater panic, heartbeat like a runaway freight train behind his rib cage. His smile had long slipped away, cheeks too weighed like lead to pull them back up again.

Tender fingertips hooked around the curve of his jaw, drawing his attention up - right into serene pools of aquamarine.

Victor’s lips curved in a soft smile. “This is for you too.”

His eyes dropped down to Yuuri’s lips - betraying the thoughts behind his neutral gaze - and the pad of his thumb grazed over Yuuri’s full lower lip, snagging it ever so softly. Yuuri’s breath hitched, heat flooding his cheeks.

In the back of his mind, he knew they should stop. The people - the cameras! - but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be without Victor’s touch, even though he already knew it couldn’t last; Victor needed to perform. He needed to skate for Yuuri, skate their love story as Victor remembered it and Yuuri never got tired of being reminded. Victor never looked anything less than stunning in his dishevelled suit, loose tie around his neck just begging to be pulled into a kiss. Yuuri wanted to kiss him. He could just lean up, graze his lips over Victor’s and wish him luck with more than just words…

A knowing smirk flickered over Victor’s lips as he read Yuuri’s mind, light dancing in his gaze. “Don’t take your eyes off me.”

Yuuri didn’t have the brain cells to form a reply.

In a wisp of silver, Victor was gone.

Yuuri could only blink as he went, air stolen from his lungs and attention captivated by the swish of silver hair and sleek spray of ice. His parting words echoed in Yuuri’s ears.

Something inside Yuuri’s heart pulled, like there was something deeper to Victor’s words that Yuuri couldn’t quite place. It felt like they meant more than just what they outwardly said, but … but he just couldn’t remember. His head jerked - as if it might wrack the memories back into place, remind him of what he was missing.

Nothing happened.

Nothing but missing Victor’s grandeur as the Russian took to the centre of the ice, his head high and arms outstretched to receive the roar of applause waiting for him. He didn’t look nervous, every step steady and strong. Not that Victor Nikiforov would ever let the world see him nervous. They would never know the truth. They would never see him crack.

The second Victor was gone, Yuuri’s knuckles went white around the boards again. It was beyond his control, watching Victor the champion take to the ice but feeling Victor the man quake behind the mask for the cameras. He felt it too.

Even as Victor pressed his lips to the base of his right ring finger, Yuuri felt it. Like a chill running through him.

He couldn’t move to return the gesture.

Yuuri held his breath as the first sultry notes of Victor’s short skate music rang out and Victor’s sigh sank through his shoulders, easing through his muscles. Even with everything that Yuuri knew was on his mind, he still moved like he was dancing on air. Yuuri’s heart beat in time with the slow drawl of the piano, notes dancing lazily over the ice while Victor followed them with effortless, smooth strokes.

Victor was the Victor the world knew and loved; bold, expressive, beautiful. His hair whipped around him like a silver halo and his eyes fluttered shut like he was lost in bliss. Arms caressed the air, guiding his invisible dance partner.

_Yuuri._

Yuuri wanted to fill in the gap, to slot himself in where the ghost of his past self had left Victor lonely on the ice. His tight grip on the boards stopped him, frozen in place.

Victor skated perfectly though. Every spin was smooth and crisp, every flourish of his hand precise, and every longing expression glossed over his face tugged painfully on Yuuri’s heartstrings, wishing he could fill the void he knew his memory loss had left carved out of Victor. He skated like he did in France. Nobody would be able to tell the difference. Nobody would know Victor had touched the ice just a week ago.

Only Yuuri knew the truth.

Watching Victor now though, Yuuri wondered if the truth was simply that Victor was just a truly phenomenal skater. He skated _perfectly_ \- no hint of the stumble that haunted Yuuri’s nightmares.

_“I want to take you away...”_

Victor braced himself for his signature quad flip, knee flexing into entry as sure as the tide. It looked strong and steady – ready. Like a champion, sure of his own abilities.

Yuuri felt his heart soar in his chest, held down by the bars of his ribcage. Perhaps that bad practise a few weeks ago had been a blip, he dared think, fingers tightening so hard on the barrier in anticipation that it hurt. Everything was fine. Victor was fine. Victor was –

_– falling._

Yuuri saw it half a second before it actually happened. The under rotation, the sharp decline, the way the back of his head turned to the ice …

The rest of the world fell away.

Time seemed to stop.

All Yuuri was aware of was his fiancée frozen mid-air, his nightmare of Victor splayed over the ice in a pool of blood morphing into reality before his eyes with every passing millisecond that Victor _just wasn’t turning_. It was going to happen. Victor wouldn’t be able to pull it back – he was going to crash.

Victor’s skates hit the ice too soon.

His back leg skidded out wildly behind him - knee cracking down on the ice and arms thrown forward before his face could follow, forearms taking the brunt of the impact.

The air punched out of Yuuri’s lungs.

He didn’t dare take his eyes off Victor, didn’t dare blink away for even a second. He felt the same white hot terror that had burned through his veins from his nightmare, watching the man he loved drop through the air like a stone in water with horrific consequences. Before Victor had even stopped spinning, Yuuri wondered how bad it would be; wondered if the splay of his legs over the ice was natural or not; wondering if the arms thrown over his head were in pain or protection.

There was no skid. There was no painful slide over the ice. There was just one hard smack that the whole arena seemed to wince with, except for Yuuri - who felt like his heart had dropped through his stomach, sickened. Yuuri felt helpless, caged back by the barrier.

For a moment, everything was still.

Everyone was silent.

The music played on mockingly, piano notes dancing around the arena as light as a feather, inviting and seductive. Whatever spell it had once cast over the ice though had been long shattered, all attention glued on Victor.

Yuuri had forgotten how to breathe. His hands ached with how tightly they gripped the rink edge, body weight leaned forward over the boards like he was drawn to Victor, pulled to him in his moment of distress. Victor was right there on the ice - face lifting up from behind his hands already, as colourless as the ice around him. His legs splayed out coltish around him, right knee dusted with white. His knee. He’d fallen on his _knee_.

In the blink of an eye, Victor was back on his feet. For half a second, Yuuri dared hope that he might actually be okay, that it had looked worse than it was.

One stride quickly sent that hope crashing down.

His right leg dragged.

He didn’t look in pain - but he didn’t look at peace either. Not like he had before, lost in his routine and the soulful desire behind it. All there was now was tight eyebrows, a tense jaw, movements that cut off halfway before they could finish. It was wrong. It was all so wrong.

Yuuri’s head was shaking. His eyelashes stuck together. He didn’t feel called by Victor’s skating anymore, the Russian stunting his movements, no longer reaching for that invisible dance partner he’d frolicked with on the ice before. Now Victor was skating alone - like he wanted nothing more for it to be over as soon as possible. Even his jumps were short. His once quads and triples cut into doubles – and tentative ones, at that. There was no passion behind the mask. Only pain.

Yuuri couldn’t watch.

His head lolled forward like it weighed a thousand tonnes, his once swept back hair falling over his eyes. He couldn’t see any more, couldn’t bear to watch Victor drag himself through the rest of his routine so … bitterly.

A chill settled behind him, lifting the hairs at the back of Yuuri’s neck. _Yakov._ He didn’t need to turn around to know - Yuuri could _feel_ it. What must the coach be thinking now? Thinking about him? He knew exactly why Victor had fallen after all, and it was nothing to do with his age, nothing to do with his year out of competitive skating. He knew it was all because of Yuuri. Because Yuuri had been selfish, stealing Victor away to abandon his own career, his own needs. It was one thing to rob Victor of his time and titles - it was another to physically _hurt_ him because of it. It was the worst kind of guilt, knowing he’d done that.

The once heart stirring music now couldn’t end fast enough. Yuuri’s stomach curled sickeningly, Victor’s routine feeling like it dragged on a lifetime. He watched the way his knuckles tensed beneath his skin, shifting ever so slightly as he clung to the boards for dear life. It was better than looking up, better than seeing Victor’s pinched expression as he forced himself on. Yuuri wondered if the rest of the audience could see it too - or if only he and Yakov could see the difference because they _knew_ Victor.

He wasn’t sure. But whether everybody could see it or not, Yuuri knew for certain that it was true - everything was wrong.

It felt like a lifetime before the piano notes finally tripped to a lazy close, the ice stilling out of the corner of Yuuri’s eye. Victor stopped. Tentative applause slowly swept around the stadium, building momentum as it went. Yuuri blinked up.

He expected to see Victor in the middle of the rink, bowing, sweeping up flowers, acknowledging the crowd - he did not expect to see Victor already skating back to the boards, face downcast and eyes low. His bangs fell forward, hiding his expression as he dodged the raining flowers and toys like they were bullets. Skating slower, his limp was even more pronounced.

Yuuri’s hand reached out instinctively as Victor skidded clumsily against the boards, reaching to help. Victor was hurt. He needed help. His hands were trembling against the boards as he stepped off the ice, leg dipping beneath him more than it should have done.

He didn’t take Yuuri’s hand though.

He didn’t even look at him.

Yuuri was frozen in place as Victor brushed past him without a word, without looking up. Something inside him cracked, shattering.

Dimly, Yuuri heard Yakov’s voice muttering behind it - cut off by Victor hissing something in sharp Russian. Victor was never sharp. Not like that. Yuuri’s eyes were staring so wide ahead of him that they hurt in the corners, but he wasn’t seeing anything. He was still reeling from the fact that Victor had walked right past him, ignored him… hated him?

It would make sense. It was all Yuuri’s fault after all. Victor fell because he spent all his practise time with Yuuri, no matter what anybody said. He fell because Yuuri stole him away.

Yurui buried his face in his hands, hiccuping back against the hot prick behind his eyes. Not there. He couldn’t cry there - but he couldn’t move anywhere else either, still glued helplessly to the spot. His hands trembled over his cheeks, each sharp inhale of air like barbed wire down his throat.

Nobody tapped his shoulder. Nobody stopped him. Nobody nudged him to follow Victor while he and Yakov moved to the Kiss and Cry, Russian muttering drifting further and further away while Yuuri was left alone at the rink side. A million things ran through his head, each one biting deeper into the open wound inside his chest. Victor hated him. Victor didn’t want him. He’d ruined _everything_.

Again.

The scores rang out.

They weren’t great - not for Victor Nikiforov. Yuuri glanced up between his fingers at the screen, watched Victor’s head drop between his knees in disappointment as his name inched up into fifth place.

_Fifth._

Yuuri swallowed hard, hands falling away from his face. What had he done? The five time consecutive world champion was in fifth.

After one more blink at the screen, Yuuri finally moved. His body moved before his mind did, blinking and suddenly finding himself by the Kiss and Cry instead of leaning over the rink side, Victor just standing up with the slightest of winces. He looked even paler than before somehow, lips parted in some sort of shock and eyebrows pinched together.

He froze when he saw Yuuri. His bright blue eyes shot round and wide, glittering - with apology, almost. A quiver trembled at his lower lip.

Yuuri sucked in a sharp breath.

He stepped forward before he could help it. _I’m sorry_ , he itched to say. It was all his fault - that pain Victor was feeling - all his fault! If only he’d made Victor train more, if only he’d been better so Victor didn’t have to waste so much time on him, if only he hadn’t moved to St Petersburg to be such a distraction to him … perhaps he’d been right to move to Bangkok in the first place. Perhaps it would have been better if he’d stayed out of Victor’s life.

Delicate fingers followed Victor’s tear stained gaze, reaching out to Yuuri across the distance with his gold ring glinting on his finger under the stadium lights. Yuuri’s arm twitched at his side.

Before he could reach back, a large hand settled over Victor’s forearm.

_Yakov_.

Yuuri could tell long before he followed the arm up to the coach’s steely, ice chipped gaze, narrowing as he pushed Victor’s arm back down to his side. A warning lurked there, aimed squarely at Yuuri.

“I need a moment alone with Victor.”

Each word felt like a punch to the chest.

Yuuri felt his next breath stutter, felt the colour drain from his face and watched it mirror back at him in Victor’s own horrified expression. Something hitched in Victor’s throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

There was no argument.

Yuuri wasn’t sure he would have been able to force out the words even if he’d been able to call any to mind and the wide-eyed shock on Victor’s face looked like he was probably the same. That one statement filled Yuuri with absolute dread and he watched his own horror stare back at him in Victor’s expression. Victor’s eyes were round, looking more vulnerable than ever. _Help,_ they said. It made Yuuri’s heart ache. They both just stared, gazes locked, both exchanging the same fears that they didn’t dare voice aloud.

Yuuri’s fingers reached out of their own accord, like he could just hold onto Victor and that would be all it took. Hold on and never let go, hide him from the world, protect him, shelter him. Something about him now was scared - it gleamed through his gaze like a child, lost and afraid. Yuuri wished he could save him from it somehow.

Warmth pricked at Yuuri’s cheek and he gasped as the sensation touched his coolled cheek, outstretched hand jerked back to his face. When it pulled back, his fingertips were wet.

Tears.

_No…_

Blinking back to Victor, Yuuri’s lip quivered helplessly. Victor’s parted lips has pressed together, gaze firmer than a moment ago.

It was like their roles had been reversed in the blink of an eye. Yuuri should have been the one to comfort a defeated, injured Victor but in that moment, it was _him_ that was crying, _him_ that was falling apart. Victor’s mouth tweaked stiffly in the corners. Unconvincing as it was, it still sent shoots of warmth up Yuuri’s spine, slowly uncurling the tightness choking around his lungs like Victor was right there, hugging him himself.

A single nod travelled between him and Victor, Yuuri’s neck jerking awkwardly in response. He felt the bones in the top of his spine click in protest.

_It wasn’t okay_ , he wanted to blurt out. He was nodding, but it was not okay - none of it was okay. Victor had fallen, and now Yakov wanted _a word._ What did that mean? A word about what? Yuuri? All three of them knew the reason Victor had fallen - the two Russians were staring right at it.

Victor’s gaze didn’t waver as he pressed his right ring finger to his lips, holding it still just a fraction longer than he had before. What did that mean? Yuuri wasn’t sure. His hands were still trembling as he returned the gesture, tasting the saltiness of his tears running over his fingers and prompting new ones to take their place.

A calm glossed over the glittering storm in Victor’s eyes, a determination grazing over the panic. It should have been reassuring, but it wasn’t - only because Yuuri knew that look all too well. His father had given him the same look when he was younger when he’d asked about why the onsen was getting quieter and quieter. His mother had given him that look when he’d asked about how expensive his skating was. Even Phichit had given him that look when he’d first moved to Bangkok. _It’s not okay_ , that look said, _but for your sake, I’m going to pretend that it is._

A quiet noise choked from Yuuri’s mouth as his hand fell away, feeling more tears run over his ring and drip off his fingertips. _For him…_ but for how much longer?

Victor turned away.

A thick arm draped over Victor’s shoulders and Yuuri might have mistaken it for a friendly, father-like gesture from the old coach if he hadn’t seen Victor’s arm reach around his coach’s waist. His fingers clenched tight in Yakov’s coat, knuckles white. He was in pain. Victor needed help _to walk._

The thought left Yuuri feeling hollow.

He listened to his heartbeat echo in his ears as he watched Yakov and Victor slowly melt through the crowd, jolting noticeably with every step. It drove the stake ever deeper into his already crumbling heart.

He wasn’t sure exactly when it was that he lost sight of Victor but even when he did, he didn’t move. He just couldn’t, still digesting the shock. The blur of chatter clamoured his ears and people brushed at his shoulders as they passed, crowd dissipating for the end of the day’s events. Reporters lined along the boards with their backs to the ice, microphones in hand while they tried to snag passing skaters and coaches for statements, making their final summaries of the day's competition.

Nobody touched Yuuri.

Victor’s name bounced around him. Of course, Victor was all everybody was talking about, the question on everybody’s minds - what had gone wrong?

_If only they knew_ , Yuuri couldn’t help but think with a shudder.

He turned around, feeling numb.

“-the difference between Yuuri Katsuki and Victor Nikiforov is that one of them is well over the average age athletes that you see competing today. This is a young man's game and, frankly, Victor Nikiforov is not a young man anymore.”

Yuuri froze in his tracks.

The words buzzed in his left ear, the polished, well-practised words of a journalist that were slick with hidden intent. Enough to send the gossip flowing, the rumours swirling.

They certainly flittered through Yuuri’s mind, set his heart fluttering with panic. He didn’t want to hear this. He already knew it would be unpleasant, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, drawn to the very mention of Victor while the real thing was out of his reach.

“So are we looking at a withdrawal from the competition?” a second voice asked.

Yuuri couldn’t turn, didn’t want to. Didn’t want to face whoever might be saying such things about Victor, before he’d even seen a doctor.

Victor would be fine. He had to be. He was Victor – an unstoppable force of smiles and beauty on the ice. Yuuri just couldn’t imagine anything other than Victor being okay, didn’t want to understand what that would mean, for both of them. It felt like Yuuri had only just got Victor back, their time together just a blink compared to what was still waiting in store for them. Providing it was still there, providing it wasn’t over…

“I think we’re looking at a withdrawal from the sport itself.”

Yuuri’s heart stopped.

It was just the press – not an actual statement, least of all one from Victor himself. But it was enough. Enough to send ice racing through Yuuri’s veins and fiery panic flaring through his heart at the same time.

It was all his fault.

He’d killed the great Victor Nikiforov.

 

* * *

 

The concrete step was too hard against Yuuri’s tired leg muscles but he didn’t dare move, breathing in the snowflakes fluttering through the air and embracing the goose bumps that lifted on his flesh from the chilled winter breeze. His jacket was pitiful protection – then again, it wasn’t designed for sitting on the steps outside a frosty French stadium in the middle of December for … Yuuri didn’t even know how long he’d been sat there anymore. Long enough to stop shivering, for the cold to sink so deep in his bones that numbness washed over any pain he might have felt from it. The light was long gone, nothing but the distant glow of street lamps to keep him company through the sleet. It had felt like hours. Hours of Yakov talking to Victor.

A thin layer of pretty white sleet was slowly settling over the French pavement, pristine and perfect compared – nothing like the excessive grey sludge Yuuri remembered from Barcelona. Everything had been grey then; everything new, confusing, and unsure. Victor had been a stranger. Yuuri almost felt that same distance between them now, like Victor was worlds away instead of just doors.

And Yuuri didn’t know what he was thinking, what was happening that needed _hours_ to discuss and negotiate. He could guess though.

All his guesses ended up with Yuuri on a one way ticket back to Japan after the final – not back to St Petersburg.

He hadn’t seen any ambulance cars. That had to be a good sign, right? Victor hadn’t needed to go to hospital so maybe the fall had looked worse than it was. Maybe he was fine. Maybe that wince of pain had melted away with a strong support strap and an ice pack, and Victor was being dramatic about it behind closed doors.

That was the best case scenario for the delay that Yuuri could think of, but it didn’t bring him much comfort. In his heart of hearts, he knew that wasn’t the case.

The case was that Victor was hurt.

Because of him.

He was lucky that it was only a knee. Yuuri had knocked half his brain out falling from a quad flip – knocked out a year of his life and his fiancé from memory. A busted knee could be fixed.

Yuuri’s memory was still gone.

He still didn’t remember how he’d first met Victor before waking up in a Spanish hospital bed. He still didn’t remember how that gold ring had ended up on his right hand. He still didn’t remember how he’d managed to charm the most decorated skater alive into abandoning his own legendary career to coach him. Maybe he’d never get those memories back.

All he remembered was the pain of crashing down on the hard ice, hopes and dreams crashing down along with him. Now, he’d done exactly that to Victor. It was all his fault.

Tears pricked in the corner of Yuuri’s eyes and he gasped at the heat compared to the stark chill in the air. Numb fingers raked through his softly gelled hair, his crumpling face bowing over his knees. Victor must hate him. Victor’s life could be over because of him, if what the reporters had said was true.

Yuuri’s fists curled tighter, straining at the strands at his scalp. It felt like the calm before the storm, the moment of silent peace before the world shattered. He understood. He understood perfectly. He was never good enough for Victor – only now he’d actually hurt him. Yakov was probably talking Victor into dumping him behind those doors, into sending him back to Japan before Yuuri could ruin his life any further. It was all his fault. Victor had no reason to stand by someone that helped ruin his career just by existing.

He was too stiff to jump when the door suddenly creaked behind him, screeching under the cold. Instead, he turned slowly, feeling the bones in his neck click as he did.

Victor froze in the doorway.

“Yuuri…”

Watery blue eyes blinked with surprise, lips drifting apart, but it didn’t lift the troubled frown pinching Victor’s eyebrows together. Didn’t take away the glittering tint shimmering in his gaze. The lights from inside the stadium glowed behind his head like a halo, all the brighter compared to the evening darkness edging in around him.

“You …” Victor’s voice was trembling, a line sparkling down his pale cheek. “You waited all this time?”

Something was wrong.

Yuuri stood up slowly – not that his frozen bones would have been able to move any faster even if he’d have wanted to – frown already etched in his brow as it swathed over Victor. He picked out all the little things that stood out in Victor’s face, things that didn’t belong there.

The storm behind his gaze was the first thing – the _worst_ thing. Yuuri couldn’t decipher the look behind it, couldn’t pierce through the mash of sparkling sea green. Green, not blue. Yuuri’s stomach did somersaults; Victor was sad. Sad about what though? What had Yakov said to him? Dump Yuuri? Was that why Victor looked like it hurt to look Yuuri in the eye? Victor looked even more fragile than when he’d first stepped off the ice, like a stiff breeze could shatter him.

It was the same gaze that Yuuri had walked away from in the airport when he’d left Barcelona all that time ago, when he’d left Victor behind. Was that what Victor was bracing himself for now? To leave Yuuri behind?

Yuuri’s breath caught.

He barely noticed Yakov step up behind Victor – not until Victor himself turned under the weight of his coach’s heavy gaze. When Yuuri blinked up though, Yakov wasn’t looking at Victor. His stare lingered squarely on Yuuri, blank and unreadable, curling something unpleasant in Yuuri’s stomach with dread.

It only made Yuuri feel worse.

He jerked his eyes down to the sleet blanketed step beneath his trainers, catching a flash of silver hair out of the corner of his eye as Victor nodded to his coach. What had they agreed, Yuuri wondered, heart in his mouth. His hands clenched into tight fists as Yakov slowly trudged past him, the air between the three of them stiff and tense. Yuuri didn’t have the nerve to look up again until Yakov’s footsteps were firmly behind him, until he could no longer hear the soft crunch of setting snow under the Russian’s boots.

Only then did he have the guts to drag his eyes back up to Victor. Sad, conflicted aquamarine pools waited for him.

For a moment, nobody moved. Nobody said anything. They just stood there, staring, neither of them sure of how to break the long, weighty silence. What was there to say? Certainly nothing either of them actually wanted to hear, that much Yuuri was sure of.

Victor’s mouth opened first … then closed again.  

And a second time.

Yuuri wasn’t sure how much more his heart could take, already boxing with his ribcage like a champion. Half of him wished Victor could just spit it out, get it over with. The other half wished Victor would never find the words he was looking for.

“Shall we …” Yuuri couldn’t take it anymore, hearing the wobble in his voice through the tense space between the pair. “... go back to the hotel?”

It was cold. Frightfully cold, and Yuuri could see the bulge in the leg of Victor’s tracksuit pants around his knee, packed with heat pads or support bandages. He wasn’t sure, but he was sure standing out in the cold would only tense the muscle, stiffen the joint - make whatever was wrong with Victor ten times worse just from exposure.

Victor just nodded, gaze falling.

He leaned heavily on the rail as he slowly made his way down the steps, Yuuri fighting the urge to reach out and help him. Victor probably didn’t want him anywhere near him after what happened.

Yuuri just dug his hands in his pockets - head bowed - and moved down the steps beside Victor at the Russian’s torturously slow pace. He was still limping, Yuuri noticed out of the corner of his eye when they reached flat pavement, following the large bootprints in the frost Yakov had marked out. Yuuri noticed, but he didn’t say anything. What could he say?

The short walk back to hotel was silent, nothing but the whistle of the air and the crunch of frost to distract from the crushing silence. Yuuri watched Victor out of the corner of his eye; Victor’s head was low too, bangs falling over his face and hiding whatever might have been lurking in that mysterious gaze of his. He moved like he was running on autopilot, step in perfect - limping - rhythm, hands dug deep in the pockets of his red and white Russia tracksuit jacket.

Neither one of them said another word until Yuuri quietly closed the hotel room door behind them, lock sliding in place with a quiet click. Yuuri’s hand lingered on the door handle, pausing.

A sharp gasp jerked his attention up.

Victor lowered himself down onto the edge of the bed in the middle of the room, leg extended out in front of him and face scrunched up. His knuckles were white, fisted in the sheets either side of his hips.

Yuuri gulped hard. “Did you see a doctor?”

His voice sounded strange. Different to what he remembered. Whether rasped with cold or nerves, he wasn’t sure, but he felt like Victor could tell how frightened Yuuri was long before he peeled open his tightly squeezed eyes. They didn’t turn to him straight away though, lingering on a particularly interesting spot in the dark hardwood floorboards between Victor’s feet instead.

“Yes.”

Victor’s voice sounded lifeless. His eyes had lost their sparkle from before, now blank and glazed. Yuuri wasn’t sure that wasn’t worse than the earlier threatening tears.

“W-what did they say?”

A humourless smile flickered over Victor’s lips, head shaking more to himself than anyone else, Yuuri suspected. “That it’s bad.”

His head flopped forward heavily, a deep sigh punching out of Victor’s lungs like it was the hardest breath he’d ever had to force out. Yuuri wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light or if something sparkled down from Victor’s face onto his trouser leg, falling so fast through air he would have missed it had he blinked. It was like the airport all over again.

“Yuuri… we need to talk.”

It was like a punch to the gut, air knocked out of Yuuri’s lungs in a silent gasp. Those were the words he’d so desperately wanted to avoid. _We. Need. To. Talk._ Those words only ever meant one thing.

The End.

Yuuri swallowed hard, throat suddenly as dry as sandpaper. “About what?”

Maybe if he played dumb, Victor wouldn’t say it. Maybe he had the wrong idea and he was just jumping to conclusions. Maybe - just maybe - it wasn’t what Yuuri feared, what he felt in his gut was coming, no matter how much he tried to deny it. Perhaps it wasn’t over. Yuuri wasn’t ready for it to be over, not yet. Maybe-

“After the final,” Victor sucked in a deep breath, eyes closing. His fists clenched tighter in the sheets. “Let’s end this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angst is back. 
> 
> For now. 
> 
> Will definitely be at least one more chapter, but haven't yet decided if that might be extended to two. Will see how it goes. 
> 
> Drop me a comment before you go, pretty please #^w^#


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how much effort went into this! It's like 2am where I am now so please forgive any little mistakes. I have been working on this for the past six hours straight so am a little brain dead right now \\\XoX//
> 
> Will put some proper notes on this when I am a little bit more alive.
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you like it!

_“I’m retiring.”_

The words still echoed in Yuuri’s mind over breakfast the next morning, the air thick and heavy. Victor wasn’t really eating across the room, just pushing the food around his plate and following it with dull, vacant eyes. The fake smile he’d tried plastering on his face last night was long gone, nothing but exhausted misery left. He sat by the window, gaze occasionally flickering out to the world below, like he was waiting for something.

Perhaps he was waiting to see Yakov come back from speaking to the judges, discussing his withdrawal competition. Perhaps he was waiting for the que that his extensive skating career was finally – regrettably – over.

Yuuri was still trying to wrap his head around it. The man that skated so beautifully on the ice that he haunted Yuuri’s dreams from half the world away was giving it up.

Forever.

 _“W-why?”_ Yuuri had gasped the night before when Victor had told him, numb with shock. _“Did Yakov -”_

 _“Don’t blame Yakov.”_ Victor had cut off, soft but firm _. “He only pointed out the inevitable. He was right, of course. A skater at my age couldn’t hope to come back like I was...”_

He couldn’t imagine skating without Victor - especially in St Petersburg, Victor’s home rink. Yuuri had never been on that ice without Victor by his side and he wasn’t ready to start getting used to it any time soon. He needed more; more of those gentle caresses reaching out to him across the ice, more of those whips of silver hair slicing through the air, more of those heart shaped smiles that flashed his way whenever they skated back to each other from across the rink, crashing a little less than gracefully into each other’s arms but not caring one whit because they were right there, right where they needed to be. One short month of that was nowhere near enough. It was too soon to end it.

And there was something more - something Yuuri couldn’t quite place but that burned in the depths of his heart regardless. He was missing something. It skulked right at the back of his mind, just out of reach with the rest of his forgotten memories. _Too soon_ , a voice in the back of his mind whispered. _Not yet_. But why? What exactly did Yuuri want before Victor retired?

It was selfish, he knew, eyes settling on Victor’s busted knee from the Russian’s stretched out leg along the windowsill. It hurt to bend, Victor had told him. It would be a long recovery. The rest of his season would be lost.

And after that?

Victor would be another year older, with another year out of skating, while the rest of the world had kept on turning. Even if his knee did fully recover, he’d still have a long road to build back up to fitness - at his age! - playing catch up while the bar was pushed ever higher… it was asking the impossible. It would be unthinkable pain and pressure, and for what? Victor would never be able to catch up enough to win another gold medal for his sponsors. It was over.

Yuuri didn’t care though, still wasn’t ready to accept the logic of it. He would rather Victor skate and only win silvers and bronze for the rest of his life if it kept him on the ice, scores and medals be damned. Victor belonged on the ice more than any of them did.

But he was walking away, giving up.

And it had only gotten worse - _“Yakov thinks you have real potential.”_ Victor had gone on last night, his hands clenched tight over his thighs. _“He wants to take over your coaching to give you a real shot.”_

So Victor was stepping down to make way for Yuuri? To let him shine in the limelight as the new champion of the sport? Perhaps he could be under Yakov, could be the next Victor Nikiforov, be the best at the sport - better than anybody, like he’d dreamed of.

No.

Yuuri didn’t want that. That wasn’t what he’d ever dreamed of.

The man he’d been before his accident still surprised him, but he knew for a fact he hadn’t been arrogant, hadn’t wanted to be _better_ than anybody. Even now that wasn’t what he wanted.

What did he want?

He wanted Victor by his side.

And before?

He couldn’t remember, but he could feel it was more than just a matter of pride. There was something he’d fought for - _craved_ \- and it wasn’t anything to do with how many gold medals he might win under Yakov’s tutelage, or how many fans screamed his name in stadiums. He’d wanted something more personal than that, something deeper…

They finished breakfast in silence. Dressed in silence. Made their way down to the hotel reception in silence. Victor’s expression was pulled taut all the while, paying too much attention to the buttons on the elevator or the pattern along the gaudy wallpaper.

A black beanie slipped over his trademark silver hair and Victor’s sunglasses snapped into place on his face before they stepped out into the hotel lobby, lingering a step behind as Yuuri’s legs carried him forward on autopilot. His mind was painfully alert though, glimpsing Victor’s subtle limp behind him out of the corner of his eye, head bowed low and hands dug deep into his coat pockets. One of his trench coats – not the usual Russia tracksuit he should have been wearing. It hammered the reality home a little harder – Victor would not be skating.

Yuuri felt his lip quiver guiltily as Yakov put a firm hand on his near shoulder and all but steered him out the automatic doors ahead of Victor, like he knew all Yuuri wanted to do was turn tail and bolt headlong into Victor’s arms. It was wrong. All wrong. Victor should be the one walking to the final under Yakov, not Yuuri. He should be the one skating, more than anybody else. Yuuri wasn’t Victor. He didn’t deserve it.

A lump settled heavily in Yuuri’s throat, choking his airway. He wasn’t sure how he was going to skate when he felt like this, when Victor would be sat on the side lines, withdrawn and hurt, barely able to look at Yuuri while he all but skated in Victor’s place …

The worst bit was that Victor didn’t blame him. Even though it was all Yuuri’s fault for stealing him away from the ice, not once had he actually said as much. Yuuri almost wished he had. He would understand Victor’s rage. He would understand if Victor needed to scream and shout, cry and break things while his life crumbled around him as the world’s best skater and Yuuri’s coach – but he didn’t. He didn’t do anything. He was just vacant, a hollow shell of the man he once had been. It scared Yuuri; he didn’t know what to do.

He didn’t remember his warm up. One moment, he blinked and he was in the middle of the ice with his tracksuit jacket still zipped up over the pristine white shirt of his free skate costume, not remembering quite how he’d gotten there.

Sometime half way through Otabek Altin’s performance, Victor was spotted. His beanie and glasses whipped off with a perfect, bright smile, face splashed over every camera and screen in the building. The world had it’s darling back, waving up to his loyal fans like he hadn’t decided less than twenty four hours ago to never perform for them ever again.

Yuuri adjusted the laces on his skates a tad more aggressively than usual at the rink side, counting down the skaters to his own performance. He was last to skate with Victor out of the running. He should be panicking - plenty of time with his own thoughts to drown him out about how inadequate he was, how he was going to flake and fall, be a disappointment… but he didn’t feel anything. He didn’t care about the competition when Victor was retiring. How could he?

Yakov’s hand weighed heavily on the back of his shoulder blade as he straightened up, whispering something in his ear that Yuuri wasn’t interested in hearing. His hands braced heavily on the board edge and he stared down at his white knuckled fingers, feeling his limbs stiffen like stone. He didn’t want to skate. He didn’t want to be there.

“ _Katsuki!_ ”

A jolt ripped through Yuuri at Yakov’s hiss, tearing him from his thoughts back to the real world. Piercing blue eyes were waiting for him.

His mouth fell open instinctively - heart skipping a beat under Yakov’s intense gaze - but he wasn’t sure what he might have been about to say, words dying on his tongue before he got the chance to utter a syllable. What was it? What did Yakov want? Yuuri wasn’t skating just yet - Plisetsky was still on the ice! The Russian coach didn’t say anything though, eyes steering away from the rink and down the tunnel leading beneath the stands.

Yuuri followed, confused. Half a second later though, he understood - just as a head of perfect silver hair disappeared round the corner.

 _Victor_.

He was moving in a heartbeat.

His skates felt heavy and clunky as he pushed away from the rink after Victor, legs dragging and skate guards clicking irritatingly against the floor surface. He half wanted to just bend down and rip the damned skates off, but he knew the time it would take to fully free himself would cost him precious seconds that would lose him his fiancee.

The gold ring burned on Yuuri’s ring finger, but he savoured the sensation. Victor was still his fiancee for now. Nothing had been said about the rings, about the apartment, about _them_. Victor hadn’t asked him to go. Neither of them had taken their rings off - that had to mean something, right?

Unshed tears blurred the corridor in front of Yuuri at the uncertainty and he rounded the corner too fast, thin balance of his skate toppling beneath him. He fell against the far wall, forearms bracing the impact.

For a moment, he stayed still. He wasn’t sure if the weighty lump in his chest would have allowed him to move in that moment, even if he’d wanted to. Where was Victor going? Was he leaving Yuuri after all? Making a break for it while Yuuri was otherwise occupied? A choked off gasp tore through Yuuri’s throat, chest tightening like a trap snapping shut. He shouldn’t be surprised. Yuuri was the reason for Victor’s accident, the reason he was being forced into retirement, the one taking everything that had once been his…

Yuuri’s hand brushed over his face, fingertips pulling away wet. He was crying. _Damn._ He couldn’t be seen crying in a corridor, right before his skate. If Victor had taught him anything, it was that appearances mattered. The world couldn’t see him like this.

His eyes scanned wildly around the corridor, settling on the men’s bathroom sign on the door nearest with the tiniest huff of relief. He was stumbling towards it before he’d even really decided.

 _Just a few minutes_ , he told himself, knowing that Plisetsky’s performance would be finishing at any moment. His palms slapped against the door, weight falling into it recklessly as he all but threw himself out of the corridor. Just a few minutes of peace, a splash of water on his face… and he’d at least be suitable to skate and get it over with. He could make it through the next half an hour, whatever might happen after that.

He stumbled over to the sinks before his trembling knees could give out entirely beneath him, hands gripping the sides of the basin hard enough to hurt. His reflection made him freeze. No wonder Victor was running away from him - he looked a mess! Red lashed messily over his cheeks and his hair was falling out of place, heat radiating from his face making it stand on end even more. He looked even redder against the pale white of his shirt, watery eyes wide and nose nearly running like a sobbing child.

For a moment, he forgot how to breath. He had five minutes to fix his car crash of a reflection then he really _had_ to go back. His ring clicked lightly against the tap, but his fingers were fumbling too hard for him to turn it on, giving up after three attempts and hanging his head in shame.

That was when he heard it.

He recognised a choked off gasp as easily as he knew his own name, having sniffled more than his fair share of them in his lifetime. Only, for once, it wasn’t coming from him.

In the mirror’s reflection, Yuuri glanced up to see the middle door of the three bathroom stalls closed over, just a fraction away from being fully shut and locked. Now that he looked, he could see the tips of smooth black shoes peeking out from underneath the raised door. _Like Victor’s_ , he thought, heart freezing in his chest.

He almost didn’t dare breathe, inching forward with outstretched fingers. That gasp… Victor was crying. Yuuri would know that sound anywhere.

Then his steps paused. His fingers recoiled. His brow furrowed. For a second, Yuuri just questioned himself. Was seeing him really what would help Victor in this moment? If he was the one causing Victor pain, maybe seeing Yuuri for himself would only make things worse, would only upset him more. Yuuri’s arm twitched, itching to fall back down to his side. Maybe he should just go, let Victor get it out of his system in his own time.

Behind the door came a sniffle.

He’d done that before though. He’d left Victor crying in a supply closet in Hasetsu when he’d told him he was leaving, left him to his pain and his hurt.

Out of the corner of his eye, the gold of Yuuri’s ring caught his eye, glinting in the bright bathroom light. This time though, he wasn’t running away, it reminded him. This time, he was supposed to be fighting to stay with Victor. Tears or no tears, Victor was his fiancee to comfort. He couldn’t say that he loved Victor if he just left him to suffer alone like he had done before. He had to try…

Silently, his fingers leaned forward and brushed over the stall door. It was barely a touch - but it was enough to swing the flimsy thing smoothly open, not even grazing the Russian’s knees as it did.

Victor Nikiforov had his head in his hands.

The air froze in Yuuri’s lungs.

Silver hair fell over Victor’s face but the sharp, quick heaves of his back were unmistakable, quiet sobs cutting through the silence like a knife. His fingers splayed out over his face, pretty pearly droplets raining down between his fingertips onto his lap. He blinked fast, tears bouncing off his long eyelashes - not that it did anything to stem their flow.

Yuuri couldn’t see Victor’s eyes but he guessed they’d been dancing over the points of his shoes when they suddenly paused, the rest of his body stilling. His head flickered up ever so slightly, another stray tear rolling over his cheek.

“Yuuri...”

Glittering sea green blinked up through a curtain of grey, following the line of Yuuri’s skates, up his leg, waist, chest, neck - right until they met his own wet russet brown orbs.

Yuuri’s breath caught, floored by the weeping angel in front of him. He didn’t realise he was reaching out until his fingers were suddenly there - right in front of him - brushing aside Victor’s feathery bangs like he was handling a work of art.

Victor’s wary eyes followed his fingertips, brow furrowed. “What …” his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “What are you doing, Yuuri?”

A short gasp short through Yuuri’s lips, hand pausing over Victor’s high cheekbone. His skin was soft - still wet with tears. “I’m just …” When had words gotten so difficult? Yuuri’s brain ran to mush as Victor’s eyes settled back on his, derailing every trail of thought before it had even began. Another pearly tear blinked free of Victor’s gaze, rolling over Yuuri’s thumb over his cheek. Yuuri’s eyes followed it, pulling himself together. “I’m just surprised to see you cry.”

It wasn’t a lie. He was surprised - heartbroken - but still surprised. Victor always held himself together so well in public, never let the world see his tears - had never let _Yuuri_ see his tears! Yet here he was, crying in a bathroom stall.

Why?

Victor’s lip quivered, eyes welling up afresh.

Yuuri’s knees gave out at last.

_“Yuuri!”_

It was like a plea, Victor’s arms reaching out for him the second Yuuri dropped down in front of him, blinking through a flutter of blurring tears. Yuuri met him halfway; his arms swallowed Victor, holding him tight as the Russian leaned into his chest, face burying in the side of his neck. He could feel the moisture from his tears tingling on his skin, feel each shaky breath shudder through the thin material of his costume.

Victor _cared._ Yuuri knew it. It was a small victory, his own lip quivering dangerously as Victor trembled softly in his arms, breath hitching as he fought to control the sobs striking through his fiancee. He knew Victor had cared about leaving skating after all, despite the mask he’d put on, despite the facade that it was inevitable, that Yuuri was still that star. There was no way the Victor he knew and loved could ever turn his back on skating so easily, without a fight. He cared after all - cared too much! So much so that he couldn’t hold it back any longer, even while they were in public. Yuuri couldn’t remember ever feeling so relieved, clinging to Victor all the tighter.

He gulped back his own emotion with difficulty as he finally sat back on his heels, letting Victor slip out of his arms. Victor’s cheek fit perfectly into the curve of Yuuri’s palm, thumb brushing away the lingering tears as carefully as if he were handling a doll.

“I’m sorry,” Victor hiccuped, watery eyes blinking imploringly at Yuuri. His shoulders bobbed in a small shrug. “I messed up.”

Yuuri fluttered his eyes shut, heart aching in his chest.

It was both the best and the worst thing, seeing Victor like this. To know that Victor cared about leaving behind his career gave Yuuri the greatest hope to change his mind somehow, but at the same time… he never wanted to see Victor cry, to see him hurt. He wanted to make him smile, to make him happy. It was all he’d ever wanted. Now, more than ever.

He met Victor’s gaze, feeling helpless, not knowing what to say, what to do. For someone who spent a lot of his time freaking out, he was useless when confronted with it in someone else.

The irony twitched a humourless smile at his lips.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, a hand leaving Victor’s face to rake gently through his hair. “Should I just kiss you or something?”

Victor liked kissing, liked affection - it was the first thing that came to Yuuri’s mind. Victor wasn’t like him. Space and quiet didn’t seem to be something that would help him in his moment of meltdown, only something that would drive him further into despair. Victor needed comfort, needed to know that he wasn’t alone. Yuuri guessed that Makkachin had always done that for him before Yuuri was in the picture.

He wasn’t sure what answer he had really expected, but it certainty wasn’t the one he actually got: Victor’s eyes shimmered, lips drawing back in a small but _real_ smile. His head shook, face still cradled in Yuuri’s palm.

“It’s really amazing,” he murmured, more to himself than Yuuri, eyes scouring over Yuuri’s face. “And you say you don’t remember…”

Yuuri’s brow just furrowed.

Victor’s smile widened, blinking the dreamy look out of his eyes. They darted down to his lap, lips hovering apart for a moment while he searched for the words. “Just be you.” he finally settled on, curling his fingers through Yuuri’s spare hand, guiding it to rest in his lap. “Just stay close to me. Just have more faith in me than I do.”

The words only made Yuuri’s frown deepen - but not for the reasons he’d thought. Victor could be cryptic. He knew that much by now. But it felt like it was more than that. It was like he’d heard those words before, like the strangest deja vu.

“I don’t want you to retire,” slipped out of his mouth before he could help it.

He swore in his head the moment the words escaped, scrunching his eyes shut in regret. He hadn’t been able to help himself; Victor just melted all his defenses, left him helplessly open.

His head dropped forward, shaking. What had he been thinking? He was supposed to be comforting Victor, not putting pressure on him. Victor hadn’t even asked him what he’d thought - Yuuri had just told him anyway, not even thinking about how it might just make Victor’s decision all that much harder.

The heavy sigh that answered him weighed heavily on his head, chest tightening in response.

“Nor do I.”

Yuuri swallowed down the hard lump in his throat. He didn’t resist as Victor’s delicate fingers cupped under his chin, guiding his face level with Victor’s again. He wasn’t brave enough to open his eyes though.

“You should be skating.”

He should.  Victor was completely right, but still Yuuri didn’t make any motion to move. Yuri would be getting his scores at any moment - if it wasn’t already over. Yuuri shouldn’t have walked away from the rink so close to his own performance. It had been reckless and stupid. What if he’d gotten lost? What if he’d tripped and gotten hurt? It was a bad idea all the way through, riddled with the possibility for disaster.

But… Victor.

Yuuri just ignored him, forcing his eyes open again. If he was running out of time, he wouldn’t beat about the bush, gathering his courage. “After the final,” his gaze met Victor’s squarely. “Will you think about it?”

He didn’t need to spell it out. Victor understood - if the way his eyes widened meant anything at least. _Please don’t retire_ , Yuuri wanted to say. But he couldn’t. It was too selfish of him to ask that. But he could ask Victor to think about it, to make sure it was really what _he_ wanted. Yuuri didn’t care about medals, or sponsors, or cost. He would do anything to keep Victor skating if that was what made him happy.

As soon as the words left his lips, he felt lighter, like a burden had been lifted just by talking about it instead of the taboo it had become since Victor had first spilled it to Yuuri. He’d tried. Regardless of outcome, Yuuri knew he’d tried.

The rest was up to Victor.

His fingers tightened around Victor’s in the Russian’s lap, skin snagging on the rough material of Victor’s worn jeans. “Please?”

Victor’s lips ghosted apart, like he was just as surprised as Yuuri was that he’d actually asked, eyes round and glittering like stars. They weren’t wet anymore - just glowing with adoration, with love. Yuuri felt like he could drown in Victor’s eyes, happy to lose himself in those stunning aquamarine depths for the rest of his life if only Victor would have him.

A quick squeeze around his fingers was all the warning he got before Victor smoothly rose to his feet, pulling Yuuri up with him. Their hands stayed interlocked, gazes held firm.

A meaningful smile lingered on Victor’s lips. He nodded once. “I will.”

Yuuri’s next breath came out in a huff - like relief. The band around his chest loosened, lungs moving freely with his sigh, and his lips curved in a gentle smile to meet Victor’s. Victor’s thumb grazed over his knuckles, lingering over the bump of his ring. His eyes shone a little brighter.  

“Let’s go.”

His touch was guiding, gentle, coaxing, and Yuuri was grateful as Victor carefully led him out of the bathroom stall. He’d offloaded his fears and worries, pleaded what he could and had his pleas _listened_ to - but he still felt fragile, like his heart was ready to shatter at any moment. There was nothing more that he could do. It was out of his hands now. Victor held him together as he led him back up the corridor, light of the stadium glowing at the end of the tunnel like the promised land.

Yakov all but shoved him on the ice when they got back, and Yuuri wondered just how close he’d come to being disqualified. In the end though, he knew he wouldn’t have cared. Not for those precious moments with Victor. He wouldn’t care at all.

He wobbled on his skates for the first few strides, dragging himself to the middle of the rink robotically while the applause erupted around him. He was a gold medalist now after all - people might think he actually had a shot. And with Victor now out of the running, even more so. Yuuri didn’t want to linger on that last part though. He didn’t care about winning anymore. His own career wasn’t important. Suddenly, there was a bigger picture to Yuuri’s life beyond his career that he had never considered before. Skating was temporary. Competitions and medals would pass. Victor was a constant though. Long after skating was out of his life, there would still be Victor. He was more important - more important than anything.

Yuuri guided himself into his opening pose with that thought still in his head, Victor’s glowing blue eyes ghosting through his mind. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Victor at the rinkside, watching him.

 _Watch me_ , he pleaded silently in his head. _Let me make you smile one last time._

The rolling notes of his music danced around the stadium and Yuuri pushed off on instinct, body moving of its own accord. His mind was still wrapped up in Victor though, not sparing a blink for his routine.

_“Can you hear my heartbeat?_

_Tired of feeling never enough,”_

His arm reached up, fingers grazing heartbreakingly softly down his cheek. His face angled up to the rafters, blinking up at the bright lights through hooded eyelids.

He was going to skate his love for Victor like never before, like it was all that mattered. He wanted to make Victor smile one last time if that was all he could do. Victor had been entranced by his skating before - perhaps Yuuri still had it in him somehow. Enough to tempt Victor back from the brink? Enough to make him fight to skate beside Yuuri again? He wasn’t sure if he was really enough to achieve all that.

But he was going to try anyway. He had no choice but to try.

 _Watch me, Victor_ , he willed as his knee flexed, body bowing in preparation for his first jump. _Don’t take your eyes off me!_

_“There'll be no more darkness_

_when you believe in yourself you are unstoppable,”_

His quad Salchow into a double toe loop landed with a textbook clack on the ice, smooth, clean - perfect. Pride welled up in his chest but it didn’t sit there long, drowned out by the determination still bubbling away inside of him.

He let his body surrender to the music the way Victor had always told him to, felt the rhythm beat in time with his heartbeat. With every spin and every glide, Yuuri’s eyes scanned the rinkside, a wave of calm washing over him every time he caught that wonderful glimpse of silver. Victor was watching. What was he thinking? Was he smiling?

_“Where your destiny lies, dancing on the blades_

_You set my heart on fire,”_

Yuuri dropped down to one knee, pushing through the air with his hand as he rose back to his feet. Through his splayed fingers, his eyes fixed on Victor. It was always going to be for Victor.

His body moved on instinct, programme drilled so well into his bones that he barely had to think about it, too busy keeping his eyes lingered on Victor to make sure he was watching. The flash of silver was still at Yakov’s side. Yuuri almost didn’t dare look away, like Victor might disappear into thin air if he took his eyes off him for even a moment.

His blades cut clean through the ice, fast and sharp through his step sequence that almost defied the laws of physics. Victor had made it tough to begin with, trusting Yuuri to be able to pull it off. Yuuri slipped in a few more tricks though, breath catching every time he nearly tripped, nearly brought it all crashing down. But what if he got it? He couldn’t help but wonder. What if he saw it through? Victor would be so proud…

There was more he could do though, more barriers he could push. His routine was going well, every jump nailed, every spin tight, every step flawless - but Victor had seen all that before in practise. Yuuri needed something he hadn’t seen before to really make Victor smile, to really surprise him. Victor liked surprises, right?

Yuuri’s knee flexed, bracing himself. His eyes scanned the rinkside one last time; Victor. Where was Victor?

_“Don’t stop us now, the moment of dreams_

_We were born to make history.”_

Wind whipped through his hair as his skates slipped off the ice, propelling himself through the air in a tight flip. He could do it, he willed his spent body, eyes scanning the crowd desperately for a hint of silver, to know Victor was still there.

It threw him off almost instantly.

His head turned a fraction too late from looking, throwing off his balance, throwing off… everything. His legs fell slightly out of alignment. The familiar flash of panic stabbed through Yuuri, heart skipping a frantic beat as his perfect quad flip slipped through his fingers. His instinct was to lash out, arms reaching to break his fall at the ice looming up a little too quickly.

_Just like last time._

_“YUURI!”_

His breath caught. He had milliseconds before history repeated itself, before his nerve broke and he overbalanced face first onto the ice. It was happening again…

_No._

The echoes of Victor’s shout from a year ago still bounced around in his skull, back of his head throbbing in painful reminder while he hung in mid-air, half way between his third spin and falling. This was where he’d fluked last year. Panic had sent him crashing, send their world crumbling down along with him. Everything was already falling apart - Yuuri couldn’t afford to let this performance be another thing. His eyes narrowed, nerve steeling.

His teeth gritted in pain as he fought his instincts, forcing his leg down just at the last second. It shook as his skate found reluctant purchase on the ice, every muscle in Yuuri’s body fighting to keep him upright while his blade carved a shaky path beneath him. His knee ached. That was how Victor’s body had faltered the day before.

A triple. He’d managed a triple - wobbly, but he’d done it. Yuuri’s soul burned with something blurred between frustration and determination, bordering on rage.

He could do better than that.

_“We’ll make it happen we’ll turn it around,”_

Suddenly it didn’t matter what the next part of his routine was. Yuuri really didn’t care. He just built up more speed, racing forward, bowing his knee again in a way that was unmistakable.

His eyes scrunched shut just as his body went weightless.

_“We were born to make history.”_

He knew he’d done it the second he’d left the ice.

Every turn was razor sharp, hair whipping around his face - so much faster than last time! His head span in line with his body, every twist smooth, tight, and graceful, brain pressing tight against his skull while he soared through the air. His heart skipped a beat. He felt light. He felt free. His lips curved into a gasping smile mid-air - body still wrapped tight – surrendering heart, body and soul to the flip. No wonder Victor jumped like this.

It was all over too quickly.

The breath knocked out of him as he landed. He didn’t hear his skates clack down – it was drowned out by a beautiful explosion of notes from his music, delicate and powerful at the same time that echoed around the stadium. Yuuri’s heart soared with it, skating backwards with a grace that felt ethereal.

He didn’t let his eyes wander. He didn’t need to – he could feel shivers running down his spine, the unmistakable weight of Victor’s gaze bearing into him. Yuuri savoured it, basking in it as his face tipped up to the rafters. He was still riding the high from his quad flip, adrenalin overwhelming the pain screaming through his muscles. _His_ quad flip! He still couldn’t believe it, couldn’t wait to see Victor’s face. Would he understand? Would he be inspired? Comforted? Proud?

 _Please be smiling,_ Yuuri willed as the patter of music drew to a crescendo. His eyes fluttered shut in surrender as he pulled in for his final spin, soft and delicate, arm stretched up to the ceiling with feather-soft fingertips. His body hated him.

Yuuri didn’t care; it was worth it to see Victor smile. Every muscle quivered, pleading for rest. Yuuri felt his knee itching to buckle, ready to give out right beneath him. _Just a few more seconds,_ he told himself, holding on through the pain. He tried to focus on the elegant lines of his legs, on the wind whipping through his hair as he span – anything but the lactic acid burning through his muscles! Just a few more rotations…

Yuuri’s toe pick dug into the ice.

He stopped at the exact moment the last lingering note of the song washed over the stadium, one arm still stretched to the rafters and the other swept over his chest in a tender embrace, cradling over his heart. His head tipped up, eyes peeling open to follow the length of his arm.

For a moment, everything was startlingly silent.

Blood rang in his ears and his own gasping breaths seemed impossibly loud, ragged against the lining of his lungs and straining against the cage of his ribs. Everything else was silent, nobody making a sound. He could even almost hear the rustle of his costume moving against his body with every breath, smooth material gliding over his skin. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign, too exhausted to ponder the quiet any more than to simply acknowledge its existence.

Was it enough? He wondered, arms trembling to hold their position for just a moment longer and legs quaking beneath him. Was _he_ enough? He prayed more than anything that it was, that a heart shaped smile would be waiting for him back at the boards.

His arms dropped back down to his sides, gaze falling to find out. Ice chipped beneath his skates as he turned back to the boards - to Victor - smile already curving his lips.

Yakov stood alone at the rink side.

Yuuri’s smile dropped instantly.

Applause exploded around the stadium out of nowhere, but Yuuri was deaf to it, blind to the flowers raining down around him; he only had eyes only for Yakov’s ice chipped gaze and the short shake of his head. He knew exactly what he was thinking, knew what Yuuri was asking. Yuuri felt his heart drop into his stomach.

Victor had gone.

There wasn’t any tears. Yuuri was too numb for tears, cold washing over him like he’d been doused with ice water. There was only stark shock, sharp and brutal. Wide eyes blinked blankly ahead like he’d been slapped in the face, legs carrying him back to the boards with robotic strides.

He didn’t remember stepping off the ice. He didn’t remember Yakov steering him to the Kiss and Cry. He didn’t hear his score get called out, didn’t see the way his name shot to the top of the leader board over Yuri Plisetsky and Otabek Altin’s. A chill rolled over his shoulder – where Victor had draped his arm over him after his last victory. This time it was Yakov sat beside him, silent and grave. Yuuri felt the same. He didn’t feel like a winner.

His hands clenched into tight fists over his thighs, nails biting into the flesh of his palms. He barely felt Yakov’s hand settle on his shoulder, fingers squeezing in a way Yuuri wasn’t sure was supposed to be comforting or congratulating.

After a moment though, they shoved.

It was subtle – jolting Yuuri’s shoulder just enough to rip him out of his misty eyed daydream of Victor turning tail and striding calmly out of the rink, leaving Yuuri behind…

He blinked right into the flash of cameras, lights dancing around the stadium crowd like stars in the night sky. It was beautiful – but one look at Yakov’s sharp expression told Yuuri he wasn’t supposed to be just admiring it. Yuuri understood. This was the man who had taught Victor after all, and Victor had passed on the same knowledge onto Yuuri: appearances mattered.

Yuuri’s cheeks felt stiff and waxy as he forced them into a smile, mouth curving in a delicate grin. It was a mask, a lie. He didn’t feel like smiling, didn’t feel happy about his victory at all. It didn’t mean anything without Victor to share it with.

Suddenly, he understood Victor’s small smile from the photos on Google, practised and poised for the cameras. Yuuri found himself doing exactly the same.

 

* * *

 

“Do you know where he is?”

A heavy sigh answered Yuuri down the phone line, his shoulder pressed against the cold glass of Victor’s St Petersburg apartment window and staring out into the white winter wonderland beyond. Snow topped tower blocks and church domes stared back. It felt so much icier without Victor there, so much colder compared to the white utopia Yuuri had seen it as when Victor had first brought him to Russia.

Even Makkachin was quieter nowadays. Eating less, spending most of the day curled up in his doggie bed in Victor’s bedroom; Yuuri didn’t have the heart to disturb him most of the time.

He wasn’t exactly being the most functional being in the world myself.

“I don’t know,” Yakov answered him on the other end of the phone in thickly accented English. The line crackled slightly. The snow storm was probably interfering with the signal.

Yuuri’s head bowed forward, black bangs falling over his eyes. He scrunched them shut, blocking out the real world and empty apartment around him like none of it was real, like it was just one bad dream that would eventually pass. It was childish and naive … but it was easier than facing the truth that Victor was still missing.

Nobody had seen or heard from him since the Grand Prix Final in France. He’d just left. Yuuri had come back to the hotel after the medal ceremony to find the room stripped of all Victor’s possessions, his suitcase gone like he’d never been there in the first place. Victor had disappeared. His phone was turned off. Yuuri hadn’t been able to get through no matter how hard he’d tried and nor had anyone else if the flurry of worried questions bombarding him at the banquet had been anything to go by. He’d dropped completely off the radar.

And if Yakov didn’t know where Victor might be - the one who knew Victor the most out of everybody - then who would?

Yuuri’s arms were crossed over his body as he held the phone to his ear, like he was trying to hold himself together as he watched the sun fall over another day that Victor hadn’t come home. He’d known Victor would need some time, some space to make his final decision, but he hadn’t expected this.

He’d thought Victor would mope at the rink. Disappear on long walks. Stay unnaturally quiet. Maybe even ask Yuuri to go back to Hasetsu for a while to give him some space. He didn’t expect that Victor would completely _leave_ everything. Yuuri had come back to St Petersburg after the competition half expecting Victor to have just come home early, unable to face the banquet and interviews after the final, but all that had been waiting for him had been Makkachin and the dog sitter. Victor hadn’t come home. Yuuri knew it must be bad if Victor hadn’t even come to take Makkachin with him on his runaway adventure.

He couldn’t imagine what Victor was going through. Victor was used to gold medals and world adoration. To not even place at the Grand Prix final must be crushing for him, especially with the prospect of that being the lasting impression of his legacy. And then to see Yuuri – the one who was taking his success, taking his coach – nailing his signature jump and stealing his world record…

Yuuri’s head shook. What had he been thinking? It had been selfish of him. At the time, he’d still thought of Victor as his coach, thought seeing Yuuri do the quad flip would stir his passion for skating back to the surface again, but in reality all it seemed to have done was push Victor even further away. It must have been salt in the wound, watching Yuuri land the jump that had wrecked Victor’s career, watch him practically declare to the world that _he_ was the new Victor Nikiforov. He wish he’d never jumped that quad flip. Maybe Victor would have stayed if he hadn’t.

Yuuri had tried to keep himself busy the week after Victor disappeared. He dragged Makkachin along for morning runs, went to the rink to robotically do everything Yakov told him to, made dinner, went on an evening walk with Makkachin, stared longingly at his silent phone until he fell asleep… it was a lonesome life. Empty. He guessed that it was exactly what Victor’s life had been like before he’d met Yuuri.

“My offer still stands, you know,” Yakov went on stiffly on the other end of the phone line, like every word was difficult to force out. Yuuri could almost hear the old man swallow hard on the other end of the line, forcing down the lump in his throat - Yuuri was doing the same. “If he doesn’t come back.”

Yuuri’s eyes scrunched tighter. “Okay,” he choked back. “I’ll think about it.”

 _Lies_.

There was nothing to think about while Victor was missing somewhere in the big, wide world, alone and hurting. He was all that mattered. All Yuuri wanted was a text to say he was okay…

Peeling his eyes open, he stared down at the gold ring on his finger. Yuuri had scoured the hotel room in France after the final, making sure Victor’s ring was nowhere to be found, that he hadn’t left it behind. Yuuri hadn’t found it – which meant that Victor still had it, hadn’t given it back. That had to be a good sign, right? Victor was somewhere out in the world, questioning the direction of his life – but he was still Yuuri’s fiancée while he did it. Yuuri wasn’t one of the things he was having second thoughts about.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, the bleep of an incoming text woke Yuuri up from a deep sleep, curled up on Victor’s side of the bed with Makkachin snuggled up behind him. The poodle yelped as Yuuri jolted to reach for the phone on the bedside table, light from the screen bathing over his sleepy face in the dim early morning light. His round eyes dulled the second he saw it wasn’t Victor.

He nearly put the phone down, nearly rolled over and went back to sleep. If it had been anybody else, he might have just done exactly that - but it was one person Yuuri was glad to hear from.

 **_Christophe_ ** _: He’s with me._

Yuuri settled back into the sheets, bringing his phone down with him as he snuggled back into the pillows. For a moment, he just stared, rereading Christophe’s message as if to check it wasn’t an illusion, that he was actually reading what he’d thought he was reading. It had been a week after all. A week of Victor being missing - only now he wasn’t missing anymore.

He wasn’t sure if he should feel hurt that he’d gone to Chris for help and not to him, but Yuuri battled down the bitter lump in his throat. Victor was okay. That was all that mattered. He was found.

 **_Yuuri_ ** _: Is he okay?_

His fingers were fumbling with sleep, autocorrect saving his text into being something legible by the time Yuuri’s thumb jabbed the send button.

A reply came back instantly.

 **_Christophe_ ** _: No_

Yuuri felt like someone had punched him in the chest, air knocking out of his lungs in a heartbeat. He watched the short row of dots dance over the screen beneath Christophe’s message, pausing then starting up again more times that Yuuri could be bothered to count. After a few minutes though, an incoming call popped through over the message thread, Christophe’s name by the caller ID.

Yuuri thumbed it open lazily, hitting speakerphone.

“He’s a mess.”

Christophe’s voice echoed quietly around the bedroom, whispering down the phone line. Yuuri wondered what they were doing over in Switzerland. Was Victor in the next room? Asleep?

He swallowed thickly at Christophe’s words, eyes fluttering shut. He wasn’t surprised – but it still wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He imagined Victor with his sad sea-green eyes, shoulders slumped and defeated, bangs falling limp and lifeless over his face. Had he been eating right? Would he be thinner than Yuuri remembered?

“What, er…” he cleared his throat stiffly, trying to force the mental image of a frail, vulnerable Victor out of his head. “What did he tell you?”

Yuuri’s heartbeat racked up a few notches, pushing himself up on his elbows to sit back a little more fully against the beds headboard. The phone sat nestled in the bunch of sheets over his lap, disturbingly early time shining out from the screen in the dimly lit room. Where had Victor come from? Where had he been until now?

“Not much.” Christophe said after a moment. “Enough. If it helps, I’m on your side.”

It didn’t really help, but Yuuri found himself huffing a small sigh of relief anyway, nowhere near as satisfying as it should have been. So he knew about the retirement at least.

Yuuri didn’t have the guts to ask anything else. A thousand questions burned in his mind, but he wasn’t brave enough to ask any of them, words lodging themselves in his throat. Did Victor coming back mean he’d made his decision?  Or did the fact that Chris was able to ‘take Yuuri’s side’ mean that Victor was still wracked with indecision, still making up his mind? A part of Yuuri just wanted Victor to make a decision - whatever it was - just so that he could come back home. But the other part of him half hoped he would never make his mind up, terrified Victor might come back with the outcome Yuuri dreaded the most.

A wet nose nuzzled at his palm and he jumped with a gasp, blinking down down into a pair of round, midnight black eyes. He smiled sadly, fingers threading through thick brown curls. “Makkachin misses him.”

Christophe sighed.

“Yuuri, I…” Yuuri could practically imagine the Swiss raking his fingers through his curly blonde hair, voice laced with calm frustration. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

Yuuri’s jaw clenched. He didn’t dare relax again, knowing the moment that he did his lip would quiver and he would be a blubbering idiot, only making things a hundred times worse. Instead, he just blinked a little faster, the corners of his eyes pricking hot. His fingers stilled in Makkachin’s fur. “Will he come back?”

A pause silent stretched.

“Honestly… I don’t know.”

Yuuri’s head dropped forward, eyes scrunched shut. It wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear - and it hurt far more than he could have ever imagined to actually hear it.

“You have to understand, skating has always been there for Victor longer than anything or anyone else has,” Christophe said, words quick and rushed like he was trying balm the wound he’d just carved through Yuuri, trying to bandage up the pain. “He’s never lost like that before. He doesn’t know how to handle it. Throwing himself into skating was always his way of dealing with things, but now that’s been taken away from him… he’s lost. He doesn’t know where he belongs anymore.”

 _With me_ , Yuuri answered automatically in his head _._

A hard lump lodged in Yuuri’s throat though, choking the words back. They would only make everything so much harder. “Okay,” was all he said instead.

It wasn’t okay. The moment that single word came out, fingers curling in Makkachin’s fur, Yuuri knew he wasn’t going to be okay, could feel his resolve cracking. Each breath came out just a little sharper than the one before it, eyes traitorously hot, and mouth downturning in a way that usually ended with one miserable outcome - tears.

The worst bit was that he understood. He remembered the white hot rage that had burned through him when Victor had pulled him out of the Grand Prix final free skate the year before, remembered the anger bordering on hatred he’d felt for the Russian for ruining what had supposed to have been his moment in the sun. This time, it was the other way around. This time, Victor was angry, confused, and hurting - and it was Yuuri who had brought the rain to his parade. Yuuri would understand if that bitterness didn’t go away, especially if Victor did decide to retire after all.

Understanding didn’t make it any easier to accept though, and Yuuri felt his breath hitch with barely held back sobs. He sniffed loudly, throwing an arm over his eyes just as the first tears started to sneak free.

“J-just let him know that it’s okay,” he said. “Whatever he decides, it’s okay.”

He didn’t end the call. He couldn’t see the button through the blurriness in his eyes, just shoving the phone off the end of the bed instead before he could hear another heartbreaking word.

He curled his wet face into Makkachin’s fur just as his heart shattered.

 

* * *

 

A week later, Yuuri flew back to Hasetsu for Christmas.

Victor still hadn’t come back.

Makkachin picked fights with snowmen and Yuuri tried to keep his mind occupied taking care of the inn, letting the familiar work drone out his senses. It dulled the pain, kept him going.

Come Christmas Eve though, he couldn’t sleep. Instead he sat up in his bedroom, on the floor with his back leant against the wooden frame of the side of his bed. His legs were drawn up, phone propped up on his knee cap. He stared down at the sent text on his phone, eyes lingering on the time in the top of the screen. Seven am, Christmas Day - half past midnight Christmas morning in Switzerland.

 **_Yuuri_ ** _: Happy birthday_

The bedframe dug uncomfortably into his spine, but Yuuri wasn’t ready to move just yet. Instead, he watched those three little dots dance mockingly beneath his text to Victor, glasses slowly slipping down his nose.

They’d been doing that for the last twenty minutes but no actual words had been sent back to him. Yuuri wasn’t surprised. If Victor was going to send something, he would have sent it by now, but it didn’t stop Yuuri hanging on to his one connection to the Russian like a man possessed, watching the proof that Victor was alive and well, and reading his texts dance across his phone screen. It was the best thing he had. He was thinking about Victor and those dots were proof that Victor was - at least in that moment - thinking about him too.

He wondered how much longer Victor would keep it up before he went to sleep.  Or maybe he wasn’t just sat in his room alone in the early hours of Christmas morning like Yuuri was. Perhaps he was out with Christophe, celebrating. The night would still be young in Europe.

For some reason, the thought just made Yuuri’s heart slide a little further south in his chest, sighing as he stretched his legs further out in front of him.

His hands were braced either side of his hips, the wooden floorboards cool against his warm skin. It was calming, settling somehow. As the dots disappeared from the phone again for the hundredth time, Yuuri tipped his head back against the edge of his mattress and forced out a measured breath, fingers splaying out over the floorboards so they dipped back underneath the line of his bed. Facing his family was the last thing he wanted to do in that moment, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could avoid it. He’d really messed things up. They knew it.

And he still had Yakov to think about, regardless of Victor’s decision. Sure it was a once in a lifetime opportunity … but would he _really_ want to return to St Petersburg if Victor ended things?

He wasn’t sure.

He leaned back a little heavier against his bed, trying not to be too disappointed when there was still no buzz of a reply from his phone as the minutes ticked by. Victor clearly wasn’t going to text.

It was going to be a lousy Christmas. Yuuri’s quiet sigh of miserable acceptance was cut off mid-breath as something cold brushed against the edge of his fingertips, distracting him. He frowned before he could help it - he didn’t remember keeping things underneath his bed. His curiosity got the better of him - better than waiting for a text that was never going to come, right? - and he sat forward, leaning over to look under his bed.

A stack of papers was what he found first, pressed down under the weight a small moleskin notepad. They weren’t normal papers though, he quickly realised as he pulled them out carefully, paper feeling old and rigid beneath his fingers - they were _posters._

Posters of Victor.

They were old. Some of the colours were dull and faded, pin prick marks in the corners from where Yuuri had fixed them to his wall, but every single one had Victor’s beautiful face splashed over it, from various stages in his career. There was Victor with his long silvery hair from his Junior years, Victor in an magazine interview, Victor with his arms outstretched elegantly either side of him while he looked back over his shoulder, bangs gracefully fluttering through the air… no wonder teenage Yuuri had been in love; Yuuri felt his heart pick up traitorously in his adult body just looking at them, eyes lapping up the angel they idolised.

A tiny crease dented the middle of some of the pages, gentle weight of the notepad leaving its mark in the old paper. How long had Yuuri had those posters? He must have looked up to Victor for years…

He thumbed open the notebook curiously, recognising it as the journal he’d started keeping when he’d been younger. It had started off as being for class - a way to practice expressing themselves in written words, his teacher had said to better aid their exam technique - but Yuuri had kept on the habit even after the semester had ended. The pages made a satisfying _rip_ noise as Yuuri flicked through, stopping on a random page half way through the book.

The first thing he saw was a love umbrella with his and Victor’s names written underneath it. His breath caught. Even back then, he’d loved Victor.

His handwriting was scruffy and his characters big, lacking the finesse he now held in his script. It made him smile, grazing over the words he’d written when he’d been - what? - twelve. He picked out Victor’s name easily.

_3 November, 2004_

_Mom finally let me get a dog! He’s a brown poodle - just like Victor’s! He’s so cute, I think I’m gonna die. I named him after Victor. That’s not weird, is it?_

A cut out picture of Vicchan was taped underneath Yuuri’s handwriting and his heart wrenched as he looked down into the bright eyes and lagging tongue of his old best friend, the dog he had cherished when he’d been a boy. He’d never made the connection until then. So he’d gotten Vicchan because of Victor. Now that he thought about it, it was obvious. He guessed at the time he’d first met Victor after waking up in the hospital, he’d had more pressing things on his mind than realising he had the same name as his childhood pet.

He turned over the next couple of pages.

_17 May, 2009_

_I’m going to America. There’s this coach called Celestino Cialdi in Detroit that has agreed to take me on, so I’m brushing up on my English and transferring to a school there so I can keep up my studies while I skate. Minako-sensei cried when I told her. I think she’s proud though. I think. One step closer to meeting Victor one day._

A stream of pen-drawn hearts trailed after the last sentence, making Yuuri’s smile a little wider. He didn’t remember writing those entries, but he could imagine his teenage self doing it, bright, excited eyes glancing up at the cocoon of Victor Nikiforov posters around him as he filled little hearts with Victor’s name in Cyrillic. Yuuri didn’t remember knowing Cyrillic when he was nineteen. He didn’t understood how looking at the alien characters now, he somehow knew what they meant either.   

The next page was cleaner. His writing was clearer, neater - a more mature Yuuri etching down his thoughts and feelings. He read on curiously.

_10 April, 2015_

_My life is over. The triplets uploaded a video of me skating Victor’s Stay Close to Me routine and … oh God, I don’t know how I’m going to be able to go on! I turned my phone off. It was going insane. I just happened to find this old journal in the meantime and I suppose there is nothing better to do while my life crashes around me to make a literary record of my last Will and Testament. RIP Yuuri Katsuki._

The page ran blank for a few lines.

Then more writing scribbled underneath, messy and rushed, like Yuuri had been writing as soon as the words cropped up in his head.

_Oh God, what if Victor sees it? He already thinks I’m a joke from the final. I am never going to be able to face him again. I can never leave this onsen. I really am going to die._

Yuuri wracked his brain. The final that year had been in Sochi, right? The one that Yuuri had messed up his jumps and come last. He remembered that. He didn’t remember meeting Victor there though. Had Victor said something to him? Yuuri couldn’t imagine Victor being cruel enough to see him as a joke even if he hadn’t skated at his best…

Maybe he was just being dramatic. Flicking through his old journal entries, they did seem to be a bit irrational. Scrawled out in a fit of emotion, some pages blotted with the unmistakable splash of dried teardrops.

He flicked to the next page.

_12 April, 2015_

_Victor Nikiforov is here. Victor Nikiforov wants to be my coach. Victor Nikiforov asked me to sleep with him. It’s official. I must be dead._

_13 April, 2015_

_He’s even more perfect than I thought._

_15 April, 2015_

_Scratch that. He’s not perfect, but that somehow makes him even more perfect. Does that make sense?_

_2 May, 2015_

_I am a disgrace. I told Victor that Katsudon was my Eros. I’m never going to be able to look at him ever again._

_9 October, 2015_

_I said I loved Victor on live TV. Kill me now! I am so glad he doesn’t understand Japanese._

_10 October, 2015_

_Victor understands Japanese. I think I have to leave the country._

_15 October, 2015_

_How did this happen? All I wanted was to skate on the same ice as him one day as a serious competitor. Not a joke or a charity case. Winning against him might be impossible, I know that, but … it’s him. I just wanted to show him what I was capable of and prove it with an official score against his at the Grand Prix final. Now Victor’s not even skating and it’s all my fault. Who was I kidding? We’ll never skate together._

Yuuri’s heart sank heavily lower in his ribcage at the last entry, his eyebrows pinching sadly together and his lower lip pouting ever so slightly. He could imagine that was how he felt when he wrote those shaky words, battling back tears and his ever swelling feelings of inadequacy.

So all he’d wanted was to skate against Victor, properly? Test himself against the best of the best? It sounded like something he would want.

And even now, he hadn’t achieved it.

He hadn’t realised how deep Victor was ingrained in his life, even if Victor himself hadn’t known. Reading back on his diary though, Victor really had been plastered all over Yuuri’s life, right through his teenage years, right through his skating career. He’d pushed himself for Victor. Worked hard to meet Victor one day as his equal. If only his younger self would have been able to see him this season, winning a gold medal in France against his idol and doing it fair and square. That had been everything younger Yuuri had wanted - only he’d wanted his victory to be at the Grand Prix Final. Yuuri had never gotten the chance to make that dream come true.

He closed the book with a thick gulp, not sure how to feel. He still wanted it. He still wanted to skate against Victor - only for one more season, if that was all he’d be able to have. But one would be all he’d need to make his childhood dreams  come true, to be able to help Victor close his wonderful career on his own terms rather than be forced out through injury.

One was more than he’d get though if Victor didn’t decide to fight for his glory back, if he settled with retirement.

Yuuri set the journal back over the posters and moved to push them back under the bed. It was all out of his hands after all. Victor’s choice was Victor’s choice. Yuuri had tried to tempt him back to the sport with a quad flip at the final - with a gold medal - but it hadn’t made a difference. He wasn’t sure what else he could do to show Victor how much he cared, how he could reach out to him across the continents when the Russian wouldn’t even reply to his texts.

The posters slid back under the bed - then stopped suddenly. The paper bunched against Yuuri’s palm as he pushed, something on the other side blocking their path under the bed.

Yuuri whipped them out again and reached his arm beneath his mattress, reaching deep enough for his shoulder to bump against the edge of the bed frame. His fingers closed around something flattish and soft. Metal chinked softly as he pulled it free, tissue paper encasing it sliding effortlessly against his wooden floor. The silky smooth material glimpsing through the tissue reminded him of a skating costume, soft against the pads of his fingers.

The second it came into the light though, Yuuri realised it was so much more than just a skating costume - it was _the_ skating costume.

Instantly, Yuuri thought back to Victor’s glorious pink military style jacket that he’d seen in the Google pictures, the ones from his Stay Close to Me routines. The jacket in Yuuri’s hands was a perfect replica; the lapels identical; the white shirt beneath exactly the same; every button perfectly mirroring that of Victor’s - only the jacket held was a glorious royal blue colour.

His first thought was that it was part of his obsession. That is was part of his memorabilia - maybe he’d cosplayed as Victor or something.

Only it was too well made for that. The material was the same as Yuuri’s other professional skating outfits, the stitching perfect and exact, and Yuuri could tell just by looking at it that the whole thing fit him like a glove. Why would he have a professional, near perfect copy of Victor’s Stay Close to Me jacket stashed in his room? He didn’t understand.

He wanted to put it away. Some depressed part of him just grew even more forlorn looking at it, longing to stash it away with his bitter reminders and go about his misery. He didn’t need any more reminders about how much he’d adored Victor. Even enough to copy his outfits, so it seemed.

So why had he changed the colour?

Royal blue… _Victor’s colour._

Yuuri pushed himself to his feet before he could linger on it, dropping the garment down on his bed and raking his fingers through his hair with a sigh.

This was going to be the worst Christmas ever. Victor was worlds away, but Yuuri still had too see all the reminders of him - his dog, his pictures, and now even his clothes. It wasn’t fair. It was torture. He just wanted Victor to come back to him, to be happy. How the hell had he been able to do that before?

He’d taken one step towards the door when he suddenly froze. The little black journal hovered in the corner of Yuuri’s vision.

It struck him like a lightning bolt.

His eyes widened at nothing ahead of him, warmth spreading through his chest as he suddenly realised. He’d just _read_ the answer. Tingles played at his fingertips but for once it wasn’t in panic - it was in excitement.

He knew exactly what to do to reach Victor.

His heart was in his mouth as he turned and swept his phone up from the bed, sparks going off inside his brain, igniting instincts that Yuuri had grown tired of resisting for the last year. This time, he just let the fireworks burst inside his skull, lights exploding beautifully behind his eyes. He didn’t remember the last time he felt so inspired, so alive...

The phone was still trying to process Yuuri’s call as he held it up to his ear, foot tapping impatiently waiting for the line to click. It took far too long, precious seconds ticking away the longer he listened to the dialling tone.

“Yuuko?” he said in a rush the moment the call connected. “Yes - I know, I know, it’s Christmas. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t urgent. Can you meet me at the rink? I need your help with something. Bring the triplets.”

 

* * *

 

On New Year’s Eve, Yuuri sat perched on the snowy steps of the Catedral de Barcelona, watching the video on his phone for the hundredth time that day with an earphone plugged into his numb, frostbitten ear.

Around him, the world was oblivious. Tourists flocked with shopping bags, carol singers raised their beautiful Hallelujahs, and Makkachin sat quietly like the faithful dog he ever was, peaceful at Yuuri’s side to watch the festivities unfurl. Nobody paid Yuuri any heed. He sat there quietly, eyes grazing over the length of the vast square whenever they glanced up from the video, never quite spotting what he was looking for.

He’d been there for three days.

His hope was starting to wear a little thin.

Yuuri danced over his phone screen in the YouTube video with a flourish of his resplendent royal blue jacket, tiny, delicate embellishments glittering even under the Ice Castle rink lights.

Underneath the video, the view count just kept climbing, easily into seven digits. For once, Yuuri didn’t mind. The triplets had done their part well, pushing the video into the limelight in a way that would have taken all but a miracle to avoid it going viral by that point.

On the screen, Yuuri looked glorious. His hair was slicked back like it was for competitions, jacket fitting perfectly, completing the ensemble of his outfit with just some simple black trousers and his gold ring on full display on his right ring finger. It sparkled in the light, beautiful and unmissable. Was this what Victor had had in mind when he’d fixed the jacket to be made for Yuuri?

Yuuri had figured it out quickly back on that fateful Christmas morning. That royal blue jacket wasn’t built to skate to imitate Victor’s - it was built to skate _alongside_ it.

Only Yuuri’s partner was off galavanting somewhere in Europe.

On the video, it was Yuuko that Yuuri pushed into the pair lifts, not Victor. The Madonna of the Ice Castle skated alongside Yuuri beautifully, both of them moving gracefully to the soulful Italian notes of Stay Close to Me. Yuuri lifted. Fingers caressed. Arms reached. Every movement was tender and soft, ghosting a glimpse of the passion that the routine was capable of with the right partner. It didn’t have to be perfect. It was enough. As long as one of those millions of viewers was the one Yuuri was so desperately trying to reach out to.

He glanced up over the rim of his glasses, scouring the square one last time for even the barest hint of silver. A fresh wave of shivers started to wrack his body as fresh snow fell from the Spanish sky. His nose was already running, sniffling loudly.

There was no silver hair in sight.

“I guess he’s not coming, Makkachin.” Yuuri finally sighed in defeat when the last of the day's light escaped over the horizon not half an hour later, rising stiffly to his feet. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

His knees clicked in protest as he straightened up, digging his phone back into the warm haven of his coat pocket and clicking off the volume of the music. He was starting to get tired of listening to it - not that that would make him give up just yet. He could still leave more time. It didn’t have to be over just yet...

Only Victor still hadn’t shown up.

And if he wasn’t going to return to there - where they first got engaged - called by the pair skate routine they’d made together to celebrate their love, then Victor wasn’t going to return at all. That was the harsh reality.

Yuuri was starting to run out of reasons to defy it.

His frozen fingers flexed around Makkachin’s lead, eyes blinking tiredly and brushing off some fluffy sleet that had stuck itself to his eyelashes. His vision blurred - only made worse when he rubbed with the back of his hand, melting snow forced into his eyes. Yuuri gasped, shivers rolling down his spine with the shock cold burning into his face.

Yuuri didn’t understand it, he thought to himself glumly, as his blurry eyes blinked wildly, trudging blindly across the square from the step that had basically been his home for the last few days. It had worked the first time around. According to his diary, it had been just a smattering of days between Yuuri’s first Stay Close to Me video breaking the internet and Victor showing up in Japan. Now, Yuuri was a week down the line of his second video going viral - and there was still no sign of Victor. He didn’t understand what he’d done wrong. Maybe he hadn’t been clear enough. Maybe the jacket and the pair skate routine hadn’t been obvious enough to send his message across. Maybe Victor missed the message entirely, thought Yuuri was really skating with Yuuko because he thought they were actually together, actually in love. He couldn’t… could he?

A million thoughts raced around Yuuri’s head - only none of them were about watching where he was going as he trudged through the wintery wonderland.

Yuuri didn’t see the flash of a brown coat until it was too late.

He walked headlong into a firm, muscular chest, bouncing off far from gracefully in a way that would have sent him tumbling if strong hands hadn’t closed around his upper arms and caught him, saving him from a cold, brutal fall on the icy stone square. Yuuri’s heart was in his mouth, jaw slack with shock. He couldn’t believe he’d just done that.

Wide eyes stared at the torso in front of him, wishing the ground could open up and swallow him whole. Maybe this was a bad idea, sitting out in the cold day after day - it couldn’t be good if he didn’t have enough wits about him to avoid walking face first into total strangers! Yuuri blinked, noting the rich  charcoal tint to the waistcoat worn behind the brown trenchcoat on the stranger, royal blue tie around his neck. The guy was a rich stranger, if the fine line of his clothes was anything to go by. Yuuri swore violently in his head. Would the guy be mad? Yuuri didn’t even have the guts to look up into his face and find out.

“You…”

It clicked the same second that the stranger spoke and he recognised his voice, Yuuri’s eyes lingering on the line where the royal blue tie disappeared into the trim waistcoat. Royal blue.

Yuuri’s gaze snapped up.

“V-Victor.”

Brilliant blue eyes stared down at Yuuri through a curtain of silvery bangs fluttering gently with the breeze, Victor’s plump lips parted and his face a picture of shock, like he couldn’t believe he was really seeing Yuuri in front of him. He looked just as beautiful as ever. His fingers tightened around Yuuri’s arms.

Victor’s lower lip trembled and for a moment, Yuuri didn’t dare even breathe. He wasn’t about to miss a word of Victor’s after nearly a month apart for something as stupid as breathing.

Had he made his decision yet? Actually, Yuuri didn’t care about his decision - not one whit as Victor just swallowed Yuuri up in the warm haven of his arms, crushing the younger skater to his chest like he never wanted to let go. It was perfect. It was everything Yuuri wanted. The air knocked out of his chest and Yuuri just leaned further into Victor, letting the curve of their bodies mold together in a way that felt like home more than any country's borders ever would.

Victor had understood.

He’d answered Yuuri’s call.

He pulled back far too quickly for Yuuri’s liking, Yuuri still chasing the warmth of Victor’s embrace as he leaned away until Victor’s hand gently cupped his cheek, holding him still. Victor’s eyes were sparking with life, like molten crystal.

“We never filmed the pair skate.” he said breathlessly, asking his question behind his subtle words, accent thicker than usual. “Never showed it to anyone...”

Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat.

His lips curved in a soft smile, hand roaming up along Victor’s chest to his shoulder and following the length of his right arm until he found Victor’s fingers, holding the Russian’s gaze all the while. Their fingers intertwined effortlessly, easier than breathing.

Yuuri squeezed knowingly.

“I remembered.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this where I hand it over to you guys.
> 
> Victor and Yuuri are back together and while Yuuri obviously remembered their pair skate, the exact extent of his memory recovery I'm going to leave up to your interpretation. Same with the outcome of Victor's retirement. 
> 
> Thanks for all the people that followed this for so long and left me wonderful comments. It really means the world to me. ##^w^##
> 
> Also, if anybody is an Attack on Titan/Shingeki no Kyojin fan and is over the age of 18, please check out my latest project [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11237709/chapters/25115034). YOI meets AOT and our lovely boys, Yuuri and Victor, are scouts in the Survey Corps. Angst to ensue. Check it out, let me know what you think, and THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!
> 
> I might write some more little snippets for this fic but will most likely just post them on my Tumblr [here](https://justrae2010.tumblr.com/) rather than smack them on AO3. Please drop me a message there for any headcannons or bits you want me to write. I'll write more if you ask me to, simple as that. Drop me some fic recs too. I need more good stuff to read! And as always, follow me for any writing extras.
> 
> Thank you so much for your support over the course of this fic! If you liked it, drop me a comment, share with your friends, recommend it on a rec list, etc. I have absolutely loved reading all your feedback and thanks so much for every single comment and kudos. You guys are the best!


	15. Chapter 15

_“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,_

_You make me happy when skies are grey,”_

Victor’s voice rang out quiet and soft through the living room of their apartment, his legs drawn up across the lengthways of the couch and his laptop propped up on the coffee table. The barely audible notes of Stammi Vicino played from the speakers, YouTube video running on loop. Victor liked it. He liked watching it - especially when he was dragged out of the comfort and warmth of his bed at 1am, away from his husband of two years.

The two week old baby in his arms made it worth it though, moaning quietly through her quick gulps of milk from the bottle.

Victor stared down at her like she was the world.

_“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you,_

_Please don’t take my sunshine away.”_

_Suri._

They’d named her Suri, their little girl, their _daughter_. Victor still could barely believe it, pinching himself in the middle of his third feed since sundown to check it wasn’t a dream.

She was barely two weeks old, tiny and perfect, with pale skin, tufts of pale hair on her head, and eyes sharp like lightning. Their colour danced somewhere between blue and grey, sometimes bright crystal like her fathers and sometimes the colour of worn ice. Victor loved them both. Now they were clashed somewhere in the middle, murky and misty with tears and sleep.

Her little body was warm against Victor’s bare chest, her oversized pink baby grow wrinkling under Victor’s gently circling thumb over her little thigh. Suri had been smaller than the average newborn - which had prompted Yuuri to buy what had to be every ball of wool within their district and knit all the garments under the sun for her, pretty in pinks, and whites, and yellows, and blues, and greens, and lilacs… she was gorgeous in everything. Even that ridiculous knitted baby grow version of Victor’s Stammi Vicino costume that Mila’s grandmother had knitted for her.

He watched Suri wriggle gently in his arms with foggy eyes, mouth murmuring around lullaby words he was more mumbling than singing by then, Suri’s contented little gulps the only thing keeping him awake.

_“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,_

_You make me happy-”_

“Victor?”

Victor blinked at the sleepy voice behind him - _Yuuri_. Yuuri had woken up. Victor’s shoulders sagged with his sigh, eyes fluttering shut. He hadn’t wanted that.

“I thought…” Yuuri yawned from the doorway of their bedroom _._ “I thought it was my turn tonight?”

Victor didn’t answer immediately, carefully thinking out his answer in a way that would string at Yuuri’s overthinking mind the least. His brain cells were barely connecting, taking too long to figure out words with which to string together his sentences. He’d wanted to spare Yuuri that exhaustion.

He thought for too long.

“Did I forget again?”

Yuuri’s voice sounded fragile. Hollow. Frightened. Even if Victor couldn’t see his face, he could hear the wide, round eyes, the gently parted lips, and paling face...

“No, no- it was your night, but… but you’ve got training tomorrow - and I remember how tough Yakov is. You need your rest...”

It wasn’t a lie.

Victor remembered Yakov’s brutal training regimes, but knew how necessary they were. He made gold medalists. He was the reason Yuuri had been top of the skating world ever since Victor had retired, winning gold after gold after gold. Getting night after night of broken sleep from the baby wouldn’t help that.

And with Victor retired, on a break from coaching, he had all the time in the world and all the nighttime hours to freely devote to their daughter.

He heard Yuuri’s socks pad softly across the wooden floor of their living room, steps lazy and clumsy with tiredness. _Just go to bed,_ Victor wanted to say - but then Yuuri’s warm hands settle on Victor’s stiff shoulders and Victor felt the words melt away in his mouth, body going pliant under his husband’s hands.

Lips pressed into the crown of his head, arms winding across the front of Victor’s chest above where Suri lay. Victor pressed a kiss into Victor’s forearm, nuzzling into the warm skin.

“The exhibition skate, huh?”

Victor’s lips tweaked in an affirming smirk that Yuuri couldn’t see. “I like it. It helps keep me awake.”

Yuuri chuckled above him.

The exhibition skate had been a day Victor had never thought he’d see after his knee injury. It had been a year after his retirement, after a year of rest and rehabilitation.

In hindsight, Victor should have seen it coming.

The way Yuuri had brought Victor’s skates along even though he hadn’t been on the ice in months, the way he’d made Victor wear his old Stammi Vicino costume under his coat as a _supporting gesture_ of Yuuri’s new version, the way Yuuri had asked him to warm up with him to keep him company, the way he and Yuuri had danced simplified choreography of the routine the night before in their hotel room, just having fun, Victor had thought…

And then his name had rang out through the stadium with Yuuri’s and all the pieces had suddenly clicked together.

The skate had been nothing elaborate. Slow spins, graceful lines - all the tricks and jumps saved for Yuuri to grace around Victor just _enjoying_ being back on the ice in front of the world’s stage. It was the first time he’d skated in front of an audience since his knee injury, the accident he’d thought would be the world's last lingering impression of Victor on the ice.

Not so anymore.

Thanks to Yuuri.

Yuuri skated his exhibition skate after taking home the Grand Prix gold - and he did it hand in hand with Victor Nikiforov, the living legend and his husband, giving him one last meaningful show on the ice.

Victor tipped his head back on the couch, blinking up at Yuuri through his eyelashes and smile curving his lips. He had his whole world right there, in that living room.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri’s memory would never be quite the same.

That was what the first doctor said. And the second. And third, and fourth; Victor dragging his husband across three continents and to seven specialist neurological care centres over as many years before he finally accepted the verdict. There was nothing wrong, he was reassured. Yuuri’s brain had stitched itself back together from the injury nicely, he was recovering well, making excellent progress...but there would always be an imprint from what happened, a permanent scar that would never quite go away.

Yuuri had known that would be the case long before any doctor had told him as much, before any scan confirmed it. He’d known the moment that half of his missing memories flooded back that there would always be pieces missing, lost forever in the abyss that had swallowed up certain fractions of his life and - in a kindness Yuuri was forever grateful for - decided to spit tiny bits back out for him.

He hadn’t been sure _how_ at the time, but he always knew that black hole would always be there. In the back of his mind. Dangerous, but subdued.

And he’d learned to live with it.

Or so he’d thought.

“I can’t help it, Yuuri.” Victor sighed against Yuuri’s shoulder late one night, eyes still bolt wide open despite the fact it was so late, it was early. His arms clung tight around Yuuri’s waist, tears wetting the skin of his husband’s shoulder. “You just really scared me …”

Yuuri didn’t say anything, arms just tightening around Victor and holding him even closer. A nerve in his jaw twitched. _He knew_.

Because it had scared him too.

It had happened on a Saturday, a year earlier.

 

* * *

_“Hey, Victor, what do you want to do for dinner?”_

_Yuuri hadn’t noticed at first._

_He just asked the question that he asked nearly everyday, forearms braced on the kitchen counter while Victor made them afternoon tea._

_He’d just started listing off the options, of what he could make for them; katsudon, borscht, ramen, burgers, crepes, sausages, pirozhki, chicken or beef, stew or soup, pasta or rice … it was making him hungry just thinking about it. Without thinking, he asked Victor what he wanted._

_Victor just stared back at him, white faced and open mouthed, teaspoon hovering in the air and slowly dripping tea onto the kitchen counter. The two mugs sat abandoned in front of him, not even steaming anymore._

_Yuuri had just stared, confused. Then Victor had told him._

_Turned out he’d asked Victor the same question seventeen times. In exactly the same words, each time like it was the first._

_And Yuuri hadn’t realised._

 

* * *

 

He didn’t remember the other times he’d asked that morning. Not straight away, not later that afternoon, not later that week, and certainly not now, years down the line. It had been swallowed up by the black hole in his brain. The doctor’s had suggested it had been triggered by stress; they’d lost Makkachin earlier that month, after all.

Only it hadn’t stopped there.

He forgot their wedding anniversary.

He forgot the pin number on the credit card of two years.

Once, he even forgot that he’d driven to the store and walked home, leaving the car parked in the shopping complex for three days - with a huge fine and a clamp - before he realised.

It happened over years, barely noticeable - but it was like a slap in the face when it did, frightening Victor all over again no matter what Yuuri and the doctor’s said. It would never not frighten him, Yuuri knew. After all he’d put Victor through, he could hardly blame him for being worried that somehow it might all happen again. Yuuri’s brain was fragile after all. Even off the ice, it was possible for him to hurt himself in a way that could have serious consequences for them both.

But they carried on.

They worked on it.

Suri gave them a reason to _have_ to work on it. In their younger days, both of them had ran away from the aftereffects of Yuuri’s amnesia in their own way, but they couldn’t do that now - not with a toddler at home. Now, they had to face it.

They scoured over photo albums of memories past. They worked on puzzles together every morning before they left for work. They spoke in a blend of Japanese, English, and Russian, keeping Yuuri’s brain alert and focused. They did everything they could to help strengthen Yuuri’s long term and short term memory.

It helped. It helped them cope better with the stumbles if nothing else. What else could they do? It would never go away. All they could do was find a way to live with it.

Their lives ticked on.

And in time, they forgot about the forgetting.

 

* * *

 

Years later, Yuuri stood in the middle of the street - which street, he had no idea - hand in hand with five year old Suri and eyes grazing over the street signs, his knowledge of Cyrillic suddenly evaporating. _Don’t panic,_ he told himself. _Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t-_

It was hard not to panic though when he didn’t remember where they lived.

A tiny hand pulled on the hem of his coat, drawing Yuuri’s attention down. Round, bright blue eyes stared back up at him.

“Otousan, are you okay?”

Suri was a beautiful little girl. Her blue eyes just seemed to get brighter with everyday and her hair was long and pale, not quite brown and not quite blonde. It fell somewhere between curls and waves, locks smooth, and long, and pretty. The white faux fur of her coat hood nestled adorably around her sweet, round face.

Yuuri forced a smile on his face, forced himself to calm down for his daughter’s sake. He loosened his hold on her hand slightly, realising he’d been holding too tight.

“Yeah, Suri.” Yuuri said, hoping it sounded more convincing to the five year old than it did to himself. “Otousan’s just having a silly moment, that’s all.”

He didn’t want to tell her. He didn’t want to admit he was lost - or worst of all, call Victor for help. He’d lived in this neighbourhood since he and Victor had married, for heaven’s sake! But in all that time, for some reason, Yuuri just couldn’t remember the way home. He couldn’t even remember what his front door looked like, what the front of his apartment complex looked like, what the street name was, or the door number… how was that possible?

Yuuri’s breaths misted in front of him in the cold air, fighting to keep them steady and level. He didn’t want Suri to see him freak out. He didn’t want Suri to freak out. It would just make him freak out worse, make Victor have kittens when he inevitably found out, would make everything so much worse…

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, thumbing open Google Maps and trying to ignore the way his heart jumped nervously in his throat.

He hoped this worked. _Please, God, let it work…_

In the school runs, he used Google Maps to find the best routes to avoid the traffic, more often than not on the way home, always typing in the first line of the address without thinking to bring them the way home in the fastest way possible.

He didn’t remember the address now. But if Yuuri was lucky ... if he was very, very, very, very lucky-

The Home icon popped up on his screen.

Yuuri could have cried.

“It’s okay, Suri,” he said a little brighter, tapping on the _‘Go’_ icon and racing heartbeat slowing as the blue line marking the way back home carved through the street map on the screen. “We’re going on an adventure.”

 

* * *

 

When Yuuri got home with Suri an hour later, he collapsed in Victor’s arms and cried.

 

* * *

 

They’d thought they could get by. They’d thought there would always be a way out of the blips in Yuuri’s memory, whether it be Victor, or Google Maps, or a stroke of luck.

They were wrong.

A year later, Suri sat on their couch, arms crossed tightly over her chest and still in her little pink tutu, fat glistening tears rolling over her cheeks.

Yuuri had missed her recital.

Because he’d forgotten.

Victor had text him while he’d still been at the rink, seat saved at the school theatre with plenty of time to get there … and then Yuuri had blinked up from his phone and forgotten. Just like that. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t remember Victor’s texts even existed until he read them back hours later in the passenger seat of the car after Victor had picked him up from the rink, Suri crying in the backseat.

She didn’t speak to him all the way home.

Victor and Yuuri had discussed it quickly in the kitchen. They could have blamed Yuuri’s absence on anything; on traffic, on weather, on the rink schedule… but they decided it was best not to lie to her. She was old enough. And Yuuri couldn’t bear to hurt her anymore than he already had.

They decided to tell the truth.

“Suri,” Victor said softly, sitting down beside their daughter and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Your Otousan and I have something to tell you.”

Yuuri hung back, finding his seat in the single armchair to the side of the couch. His elbows braced on his knees, chin on the back of his interlocked fingers. When those tear stained crystal eyes turned his way, Yuuri damned near felt his heart crack in his chest.

“See when Otousan was younger, he had an accident on the ice.” Victor explained. “A bad accident. A really bad accident, and it really hurt him a lot.”

Suri blinked through her tears. She turned them up to her Papa.

“Like your wobbly knee?”

Victor’s face froze a moment before he cracked a smile. “Yes, like my wobbly knee. Only Otousan fell on his head and it made him forget a lot of things. He forgot Papa.”

Yuuri’s head hanged, shame burning through him.

He felt Suri’s eyes jerk back to him, wide and shocked. He could always feel when she was looking at him.

“He-”

“He forgot me, yes.” Victor nodded. “He got better after a while, but he still finds it hard to remember things. Like your recital. He was really looking forward to it, Suri. You remember he took you to every rehearsal? Watched you practise? Bought you your new outfit? It was because he wanted to be there. It wasn’t his fault-”

“I’m sorry, Suri.”

Yuuri’s voice was low and quiet but they both heard every word, air in the room going stiff and cold in a heartbeat. He never used that tone of voice with Suri - not unless it was explaining something truly awful. He hadn’t used it since Yakov had died.

He couldn’t help it though - he felt awful. Guilt clawed at his stomach and while he wanted Suri to understand that he hadn’t casually forgotten her, that she was important to him, that he did care, he also wanted her to understand that it didn’t control him. It made him stumble. It made him trip. It didn’t stop him - he was still running, he was still in control. He was still him. He wanted her to understand that more than anything.

And to do that, he had to take responsibility. “I should have been there for you.” he said, interlocked fingers tightening until the knuckles went white. “I should have left more time, or set a reminder, or have Papa pick me up, or-”

The words choked up in Yuuri’s throat, blinking back tears. His head shook, rubbing a hand over the back of his eyes. He could not cry, he told himself. He absolutely - _absolutely!_ \- could not cry.

Little arms wrapped around him.

Yuuri blinked wide eyed down at the crown of baby soft brown-blonde hair pulled back into a smooth ballet bun beneath him, his shaky sigh bouncing back on his face from his daughter's forehead. It took him a minute to piece everything together, catching Victor’s round, surprised eyes from the couch. They were glued on Suri, stood up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms as best she could around Yuuri.

Her hands felt absolutely tiny on his back, one reaching up to thread carefully through his hair. “It’s okay, Otousan,” she said, muffled into his shoulder. “You just had a silly moment, right?”

Yuuri blinked… and blinked again, heart dead still in his chest.

His eyes welled up all over again.

After a silent moment and choking down a sob, Yuuri’s arms wrapped around his daughter in turn, holding her close.

“Yeah…” he said, sitting back and plopping Suri on his knee to better slot them together in their hug. Her little arms reached around his neck, head pressed over his heart. Yuuri cupped the side of her head, cradling her close as she barely held together his composure just by _existing._ God, he loved this girl… “Yeah,” he finally choked. “Just a silly moment.”

Victor’s phone clicked in the background.

Yuuri barely noticed.

 

* * *

 

That year, Yuuri’s Christmas present from his daughter was an organiser - with a pink bound cover and smothered in glitter.

“So you won’t forget next term’s recital.” Suri had said by way of explanation, pressing a kiss into Yuuri’s cheek.

Yuuri had cried for three hours.

 

* * *

 

“Suri … am I having another silly moment or-or-”

Yuuri stood stammering in the doorway, his hand still frozen on the doorknob and his face running white with shock. He must have had another memory lapse, he told himself. He must have. There was no way he would forget this thing - not when it was such a _big thing!_ He must have lost a chunk of time, or blacked out, or-

From the couch, a thirteen year old Suri rolled her eyes, feet propped up on the couch and eyes glued down to her cell phone.

“No, _Otousan,”_ she said in Russian. Russian was her favourite language at the moment. Yuuri was pretty sure it was because it was the one that he was the worst at understanding. “You didn’t forget. I just never told you.”

“B-but-”

It was that exact moment that Victor strolled through from their bedroom, wiping his hands on a tea towel and beaming a smile that looked way too happy with himself.

“Oh, hey Yuuri!”

Yuuri just stared. “‘Hey?’” he choked. “‘ _Hey?’_ That’s all you can say? After she - w-when she- _”_ He couldn’t even say it, biting his fist until it hurt.

From the couch, Suri finally glanced up. Her hand still reached up to tuck behind her ear, to brush her long hair out of her face… only it wasn’t there anymore. Her gorgeous, waist length locks were gone. She stopped half a beat before she touched her ear, blinking at her fingers in surprise. The impulse was hard to forget, Yuuri reasoned. It still didn’t make the short blonde pixie cut any easier to digest.

“It looks great, right?” Victor just beamed, glancing over at their daughter. Glancing - like her chopping nearly all of her hair off wasn’t a big deal!

 _Of course, he was happy with it,_ Yuuri thought bitterly as he paid more attention to the new haircut, starting to see past the sheer _shortness_ of it - she had Victor’s bangs, fringe falling over her left eye.

He turned to his husband, heart in his mouth. “D-did you do this?”

“Yes.” Victor blinked without hesitation. “Why not?”

_“Why not?!”_

Suri kicked her legs off the table, leaning forward until her elbows braced on her knees. “Otousan, it’s not a big deal-”

“You just cut off all her hair without even asking me?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly ask anybody when I did it.” Victor shrugged. “I could hardly say no. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Suri slumped back on the couch,eyes rolling. “I knew you’d freak out…”

Yuuri pressed his fingers to his temple, trying to reign himself in. He was talking too loud. He was overreacting. He _knew_ , but still… her _hair…_

“I’m not freaking out,” he said aloud, not really convincing anybody. “I’m just… _surprised…_ that’s all.”

His voice choked at the last moment, his ribcage clenching unexpectedly. His fingertips pressed harder over his eyes, body tensing as the air forced out of his lungs with one punch. He really didn’t want to make a big deal of it, but… he just couldn’t help it.

“... you don’t like it?”

Suri’s voice was tiny.

It made Yuuri gasp, shooting his head up again. He heard the fragility in her voice, the uncertainty… and his heart cracked when he caught her flickered up eyes, round and unsure. Frightened. Insecure. _No, no, he definitely didn’t want that_.

“No, no - I do!” Yuuri backtracked quickly.

He dropped his shopping bags in the doorway and strode forward, not stopping until he was sat on the couch beside his daughter, examining every inch of her new haircut like it was a work of art. To be fair, it was. It was cut beautifully, showing off her soft featured face in a way that her long locks never could. You could actually see her face for a change. It looked good. It _really_ looked good, actually.

He didn’t touch her. He was very careful not too, hands hovering just a beat above her shoulders. Touching was something he knew made Suri uncomfortable when she felt vulnerable, and he did not want to make her feel any worse.

She blinked at him, eyes round and glittering. “Really?”

“Really.” he said, firmer. Every word reverberated in his chest, heart pounding with unending adoration for their daughter. “You look beautiful. You always look beautiful.”

Yuuri held his breath. He wanted to make her happy, to make her feel pretty. He was never very good with words - Victor was always better at this kind of stuff, but it was Yuuri that had made the blunder and it was only fair that he be the one to fix it-

Finally, Suri cracked a soft smile.

Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief.

“Look, Yuuri!” Victor’s voice rang from deeper in the apartment, back from the bathroom. “It’s not gone! We brought it home so you could see-”

Victor waltzed back in, Suri’s severed blonde ponytail held together with a single hair tie swinging from his hand like a trophe, glittering beautifully in the light.

Yuuri just shrieked and covered his eyes, folding over on the couch.

Suri set a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Papa!”

 

* * *

 

“Papa, this is ridiculous.”

“No, Suri, it’s not ridiculous,” Victor insisted from across the cafe table, unfolding his napkin. “It’s important. You’re a young lady and you need to be taught the important lessons in life.”

“But Papa-”

“Shh, another lesson.”

The bell at the cafe door dinged, and Victor turned in his chair when his husband stepped through, eyes staring in confusion around the cafe. It smoothed out the moment he found Victor and Suri… well, at least a little…

Eighteen year old Suri just buried her head in her hands. “Papa, please-”

“Yuuri, it’s an emergency.” Victor said the moment his husband sat down, closing his fingers over his on the table top.

Yuuri just stared, brow still twisted with confusion. “What kind of emergency?” His eyes darted from Victor to Suri, and back again, his daughter’s head still in her hands and fingers raking through her hair. “You’re not pregnant, are you? Please tell me you’re not-”

“No, ‘Tousan!” she all but shrieked. “I’m not pregnant.”

“Yuuri, it’s worse.” Victor said dramatically, sighing and tipping his bangs out of his eyes, fluttering them tearfully to the ceiling. “Our daughter doesn’t know a gentleman.”

For a moment, nobody said anything.

Then, finally-

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri shook his head, confused. “What?”

“I wanted to take Suri on a date, so she knew what kind of traits to look for in a good gentleman, but…” his head shook again, hand flapping at his face as if to hold back his emotion. “She -she didn’t-”

“Wait,” Yuuri’s eyes levelled with Suri’s, round and … well, frightened. “Y-you’re dating?!”

“I mean, she didn’t say anything when I didn’t open the car door for her-”

Their daughter shrugged, sitting on her hands and averting her eyes down to the folded napkins on the tabletop. “Just a few guys…” she mumbled. “Before I go to college …”

“-and she thought a man wearing anything less than a suit was acceptable-”

Yuuri’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. “What?!”

Suri’s cheeks grazed pink.

“W-when did this start?”

Suri couldn’t look at her father, much too interested in the pattern at the stem of her fork instead. “A few months ago…”

“A few-”

“Yuuri, it’s such a tragedy! Some monster is going to take advantage of our little girl!”

Victor was all but wailing when he threw himself into Yuuri’s arms, burying his face in his husband’s shoulder. Yuuri never blinked away from Suri, who adamantly avoided his gaze like meeting it would turn her to stone. He didn’t let up though. The more seconds ticked by, the more his surprise settled into something a little less outraged, mind working furiously behind his serious eyes.

Suri didn’t like those eyes, shifting awkwardly in her chair; they always made her feel like she was in trouble. She tucked a stray strand of hair from her long bob back from her face, behind her ear.

“Okay.”

For a moment, all Suri did was blink, staring at her father. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Yuuri repeated.

“You...you’re okay with me dating?”

Yuuri nodded, fingers tight around Victor’s shoulders. “If you go on a date with me and your father first like he suggested, so we can show you how you should be treated. That’s my only condition.”

Suri still just stared.

Yuuri stretched a hand across the table, palm up and an inch away from Suri’s. “You’re growing up now,” he reasoned aloud, voice soft. “You’ll be moving away soon for college, and as much I would like to, we can’t stop you dating. But what we can do is teach you to be safe, and responsible, and the way a boy who is worth your time should behave. So… do we have a deal?”

Suri’s eyes darted down to her father’s still outstretched hand, jaw hanging open in shock and surprise, and - her hand leapt into his.

“Yes, okay!” she agreed, fingers tight around her father’s. “I’ll do it. Thank you so much! Thank you, thank you, thank you-”

“And we’ll need to set some rules,” Yuuri warned.

“Yes, anything!”

Once Victor had calmed down, they had a family discussion around milkshakes and fries, with Yuuri and Victor picking up the tab once the sun drew in - as any _gentleman_ should for Suri, they argued. Lesson number one.

 

* * *

 

Christmas Day, three years later, and Yuuri was fussing around the kitchen, cleaning every spot on the counter three times over until it gleamed under the lights.

“Victor, can you come and help me _please_?” he called back into the apartment over his shoulder, running a hand through his silver streaked hair and combing it back from his face, checking it lay flat in the sparkling reflecting of the cabinet. “They’ll be here any minute!”

Footsteps followed barely a second later, striding from the bedroom. “But Yuuri, what about my _hair_! I’m not sure-”

“You’re hair looks fine, Victor. It always looks fine. Now, can you _please_ just help me?”

Yuuri didn’t need to look to know Victor was threading his fingers through his newly shortened bangs, cropped short to just brush his forehead. It looked good. Everything looked good on Victor. But, of course, Victor needed it validated three hundred times before he accepted it, fussing over it every second until he did. Yuuri sighed. He had done the first two hundred - it was time for Suri to pull her weight with the rest.

If she ever got there, that was…

The front door shut loudly.

“Papa?”

Yuuri fluttered his eyes shut and let a sigh breathe out from his lungs, sending a silent prayer up to the sky that everything would go alright today. It wasn’t just Christmas Day after all, or even just Victor’s birthday.

It was the day they met Suri’s boyfriend for the first time.

He took one last sip of his coffee - laced with a dash of festive whiskey for courage - before he followed his flittering husband to the door. Suri was already swallowed up in Victor’s arms.

She looked radiant. Snow still clung to her shoulder length chestnut brown hair and her cheeks were rosy from the cold, arms wrapped wide around her father and hands still covered with her mittens. She looked adorable, eyes meeting Yuuri’s over Victor’s shoulder. They nodded once, a smirk teasing at Yuuri’s lips. It was their own little greeting - Victor hugged, Yuuri nodded.

Suri’s mittened hand patted Victor’s back, drawing back ever so smoothly. “Happy birthday, Papa!” she said, planting a cool kiss on Victor’s cheek. “And this is-”

“Andre, sir,” the young man from behind Suri stepped forward and caught Victor’s hand in a strong handshake, winning smile plastered on his face and green eyes bright. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Suri’s always talking about her old man.”

Victor’s face paled in a heartbeat. “Old?” he gasped in a horrified whisper. “S-Suri, you called me old? How could you-”

“Papa, no-”

Yuuri slipped in quick, filling Andre's now empty outstretched hand with his own. He shook it firmly, nodding in greeting.

He was a handsome young man, Yuuri couldn’t deny. Pale, almost white skin, with sharp green eyes and frosted blonde hair, jawline strong and chiselled. His build was broad in the shoulders and tall, towering over Yuuri, though there was nothing about him that looked intimidating. His eyes were soft and kind, smile gentle. And beneath his coat, Yuuri glimpsed trousers - not jeans - with a button up white shirt and cream jumper underneath his navy blazer jacket. _Smart_ , Yuuri thought with an approving nod.

“Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov,” he introduced of himself, smiling warmly. The boy had made a good first impression - he deserved at least a smile.

Andre’s just widened. “Andre Plisetsky-Altin,” he said. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

 _Sir…_ Yuuri liked this young man more and more. He had looks, he had smarts, he had manners; he was doing well. Yuuri approved-

-had he said Plisetsky-Altin?

Yuuri felt the colour drain from his face. “Are you-”

Suddenly, the blonde hair and green eyes looked too familiar, tall, athletic build one they’d seen before, years ago when Yuuri had still skated competitively himself…

As if on cue, the scowling Yuri Plisetsky stepped through the still open front door, just a few inches shorter than his boy, long blonde hair drawn back in a high ponytail and green eyes like bloody murder. He slammed the door shut with a resounding thud, kicking snow off his boots and sending it scattering over the floor. If he cared, he certainly didn’t show it.   

He stepped forward and jabbed his finger in the middle of Yuuri’s chest hard. Yuuri could feel already that it would bruise.

“Care to explain why your daughter showed up naked in our spa to ask out my son?”

Yuuri’s eyes shot wide. Spa? Naked? Son? Why did- he cut himself off before he even wasted the brain power though, eyes canting off to the side where Suri and Victor were fussing over Victor’s new haircut. Why was he not surprised somehow?

He just sighed, head shaking. “Family habit…”

“What’s ‘Tousan talking about Papa?”

Victor’s face flushed beet red. “Nothing, dear, you know what he’s like. He’s just having one of is _silly moments._ Let’s go have some tea-”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE. ARE YOU HAPPY? You got your ending! 
> 
> Consider it a Christmas present from me to you.
> 
> Based some of these things on things that happened to me after my concussion - the forgetting where you live is one terrifying one, believe me. Hope you liked it! Hope it rounds off the abrupt ending for you a little, and if not... it's cute okay, just like it.. 
> 
> Merry Christmas!


End file.
